


A Rose in the Deeps of my Heart

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's visit to her friends in Ireland becomes more than just a vacation when she meets a handsome man in the woods. A handsome man who turns out to me an immortal fae—and helps reveal some truths about herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the poem "The Lover Tells of the Rose in his Heart" by W. B. Yeats

Emma had needed a vacation—it was long overdue. Somewhere warm, with white sand, hot men, and drinks fruity enough to cover the taste of cheap rum. 

_ Yeah, that would be perfect right now _ , she thought as she stared out at the grey clouds hanging low over the lush green hillside below her.  _ Hell, even water would be nice _ . 

Because instead of St. Somewhere, Emma’s sentimental side had been swayed into coming to Ireland to visit Granny, the woman who pretty much raised her, and Ruby Lucas, her best friend. The two ladies had moved to a little town on the Irish Sea a year ago—citing the need for a change of scenery and a long-lost relative leaving them a property—and hadn’t seen Emma since, so it was probably only fair that she use her first vacation in a long time to go see them.

And she was so happy to be with them; she really was. But the tiny seaside town had little to offer in the way of sand (more like rocks), and while Granny never skimped on the rum, the only hot guy in town had already (unsurprisingly) been claimed by Ruby.

From where she was at the top of one of the hills nearby, she could just pick out the green roof of Granny’s diner-slash-inn in the little hamlet, though it looked like a dollhouse from here. Because, on the advice of Ruby’s boyfriend-slash-town sheriff Graham, she’d gone on a hike.

_ “Oh, it’s a beautiful day,” he’d said. “Perfect for hiking. Not too hot, not too cool. All the trails are marked!” _

_ Ha. Yeah. Marked _ . Which was exactly why she was standing up here, on some narrow footpath that probably hadn’t been used since Saint Patrick drove the snakes out (which was bull, actually, because she totally saw one—or at least something that looked like one), unable to discern a way back to the village. And what little she could see of the sun was making its way down toward the horizon. To top it all off, she was not only parched, having ran out of water a few hours ago, but damn, was she hungry.

_ I really should have listened to Granny this morning. _

The fierce old woman hadn’t just told her to bring food and water—no, she told her to stay out of the hills altogether.

_ “There’s gancanagh out there,” she warned. “Just waiting for a hot little thing like you.” _

One of her fondest memories growing up was Granny’s stories of mythology, but especially the fae folk. Emma and Ruby had spent hours searching the woods near their home in Maine for the wee creatures—or the big creatures; Granny had said some could blend right in with the rest of us, and the only way to tell was their pointed ears (which led to two little girls squealing when they saw Mr. Spock on TV). For years, she had fallen asleep to the grand, magical tales Granny wove, even when she got big enough to realize they were literally fairy tales.

So when Granny warned her of the gancanagh, the fae known for seducing human women, she just rolled her eyes and reverted back to her rebellious teenage ways, deciding that a hike was exactly what she’d do. Besides, she’d be 28 in a few days; she was more than a full-grown adult.

Which meant she could totally figure a way out of this. And she’d totally ignore those long-buried feelings of abandonment; that was all behind her, even if she was pretty sure she was so lost that even if someone came looking, they’d have a hard time finding her.

Not knowing what else to do, she attempted to backtrack down the way she’d came, until there was a fork and she couldn’t remember which way to go. Then she hit another one, and another, until  _ I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that tree three times _ .

Of course, Granny’s warning was ringing in her ears now; every rustle was some demon Cù-Sìth coming to eat her, or maybe that bear from  _ Brave  _ (her Celtic mythologies had kind of melted together over the years).

It was when she was convinced she was permanently lost and nearly seeing stars from thirst that the rustling picked up; it was definitely something. And it was getting closer. She said a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening as the footfalls of whatever beast drew nearer, until it finally broke through the tree line...and her heart stopped.

Standing in front of her was easily the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Bright blue eyes laughed at her from underneath dark, tousled hair that hung a bit over his forehead. He was a bit taller than her, trim, and wearing an oddly old-fashioned outfit of a red brocade vest, a loose black tunic, and leather pants and boots, despite the mugginess.

“Are you lost, love?” he asked, followed with a smirk that cut a dimple into his perfectly manicured scruff. “I might be able to help you find your way back.”

Emma realized her jaw had dropped—literally dropped,  _ who even does that? _ —and closed it so as not to be rude, but still found herself speechless. Where the hell did he come from? Did he follow her? Was he some crazy forest man? (An oddly well-groomed, attractive forest man, but a forest man nonetheless.)

“Or perhaps you need food? Or water?” He seemed honestly eager to help her; she wasn’t used to that from guys. He didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, either, even if he was wandering around the woods. Plus,  _ damn, that accent of his _ —vaguely British-Irish-something—was doing things to her...or maybe it was just the dehydration? Whichever it was, she took a surprising leap of faith.

“Yeah, I could really go for some water.”

“Follow me, lass!” He barely absorbed her answer before he was heading back through the trees; she had to run to catch up.

Every normal-person alarm bell was going off, but she was so desperate for something to drink, that even if he was leading her back to some religious cult in the woods, she was willing to risk it.

Much to her surprise, they broke into a little clearing after only a few minute’s walk. To her left was a medium-sized grouping of a pretty pink flower, and dead ahead was an honest-to-god bubbling spring with the clearest water she’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, thank you!” she shouted, dashing forward to the edge of the small pond. Thoughts of brain-eating bacteria briefly entered her head, but were quickly dashed by the best, cleanest water she’d tasted. She took a few more handfuls of it before sitting back and catching her breath. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of the sun on her face, until she got that feeling you get when someone is watching you. Cracking open an eye, she could see her mysterious savior watching her from the edge of the flowers with a curious but pleased expression.

“What are you, my fairy godpirate or something?” she joked, gesturing to his wardrobe and hoping to ease the awkwardness that was quickly settling over them.  _ Seriously, where did he come from? _

He blushed and looked away, adorably scratching behind his ear. “Erm, no, but you got part of that right.”

_ What? Hold up! _ She took another look at his ears, now that his hand had moved away; the outer shell of it was almost folded over, so the very top of it made a point.  _ Pointed ears...holy shit! _ “Gancanagh,” she breathed out, not even believing what she was saying.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me?” The sideways grin was back, but she couldn’t tell if it was self-satisfied, shit-eating, or...proud?

_ Okay, time to leave _ . Either he was crazy, or...or all those stories Granny had told her growing up were true, and he was really here trying to seduce her. She’d been down that road before and  _ no thank you, not again _ .

(She didn’t want to think about all the other implications of that thought, either; fairy tales weren’t true—they weren’t.)

(But...she was really good at spotting a lie, and he wasn’t lying. So he at least believed what he was saying.)

“Uh, you wouldn’t know how to get back into town, would you?” she asked, standing back up.

His face fell a little; some of the humor left his eyes. “Aye, I can show you the path. Are you sure you don’t need any food, though?”

“No, I’m good; but thank you.”

“Well…” he started, but then trailed off, before bending down and plucking one of the flowers. “At least let me give you this.”

He walked—more like swaggered, actually—toward her, though she noticed now that his confidence was covering something up; being a bail bondsperson, she knew a little something about putting on an act.

He nearly invaded her personal space, but backed off a few inches away from an indecently close distance, and held up the rose-like flower to her. Its sweet perfume reached her nose as she gingerly took it from his grasp. Then, she made the hugest mistake of her life: she looked up at him. There was something sad in his gaze, despite the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that accompanied his smile. Not just sad—something familiar, but she couldn’t put a finger on it.

_ No. Stop sympathizing with the crazy man!  _ She shook her head, murmured a “thanks” before carefully putting the flower through a loop on her messenger bag, and then asked again. “So, a way out?”

He blinked a few times, shook his head, too, and seemed to recover as if from a trance.  _ I don’t know if that’s reassuring or not _ . “Right, this way,” he said, waving a hand toward the trees, and, having no other option, she followed him. 

Sure enough, he quickly got her right to the start of the path, at the cobbled walkway that led back into town. In fact, it seemed too fast—she couldn’t recall seeing that path at all earlier.

“Wow, thanks; was that a shortcut or something?” she blurted out, impressed.

“Eh, something like that. I have an accord with the trees.”

_ Okay, more of the fae stuff. At least he’s committed _ . “Well, thanks a bunch for getting me back here, um…” She reached out to shake his hand and realized she didn’t know his name.

“Killian.”  _ Killian _ ; an appropriately exotic name for a mysterious, possibly insane guy. Regardless, she liked it. “And you are…?”

“Emma, Emma Swan.” She rarely gave her real name; so why had she just now?

_ Oh, right: because he's staring at you like you put the stars in the sky _ . His intense gaze never left hers as he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles that sent sparks through her. 

He released her hand and gave another one of his brilliant grins. “Well, don’t be a stranger, Swan. Take care.”

“You, too,” she replied breathily, trying to wrap her brain around whatever the hell just happened as he disappeared back into the forest.

On the short walk back to Granny’s, she mulled over the whole exchange in her head. Was that real? Had that actually happened, or was it some kind of dehydration-induced hallucination? 

She had just managed to convince herself of that when she got back to the diner—because what else could it have been? There was something so dreamy and surreal about the whole thing, and honestly, believing that she hallucinated a handsome, charming fae was much easier to deal with than the alternative: realizing that she let a forest-dweller help her.

_ Yup, just a hallucination _ , she told herself as she sat down at a stool and placed her bag on the counter.

“Emma, is that you? Where have you been all day?” Granny asked, concerned, while barging her way out from the back.

“I was hiking and I got lost; sorry!” She felt like a kid again; she hated making Granny worry.

“Okay...and just where did you get a middlemist flower?”

“Huh?” Granny was staring at the flower on her bag. “Oh; I, uh, found it in the woods.”  _ Right? _

The look on the older woman’s face was somewhere, oddly, between concern and relief. “Don’t you remember the stories I told you about those?”

Emma was surprised that she didn’t—she thought she had all the stories memorized by now. “No; what about them?”

“They’re favorites of the fae folk, and they’re the only ones who can pick ‘em.”

Oh. 

So maybe it  _ was _ real.

* * *

Emma made a point to avoid the forest the next few days. She went on a boat ride; checked out some books from the tiny local library; and Ruby took her to the pub down the street each night, where they danced and drank with the guys in town, but none of them caught her eye.

Because, she realized, she kept searching for the bright blue eyes of the man she had tried to convince herself wasn’t real.

But that was getting harder and harder to do when the middlemist flower she’d stuck in a bud vase in her room was somehow blooming more instead of withering. (And harder still when she saw him in her dreams.)

On a whim, she'd borrowed a book on local fae mythology, trying to learn more about them and finding that most stories aligned perfectly with the ones Granny told. 

She was reading it on the diner’s patio one rare sunny afternoon, soaking it up with Ruby (hey, she could at least try to get a tan;  _ who cares if it's October? _ ). 

“Hey, Rubes?”

“Yeah, Em?”

“Remember all those old fairy stories Granny told us?”

She scoffed. “The ones you were obsessed with? Yeah.”

“You don't think they're real, do you?”

“Is this because of that flower? Don't listen to Granny; it's just a rose.”

Emma didn't dare bring up Killian; Ruby would pounce on any mention of a boy. So she avoided it and gestured to the book. “It's just, these stories are the same as hers.” She giggled at her next thought. “Maybe Granny moved here because she wanted to see if they were real?” 

Ruby went oddly silent; Emma couldn't see what was going on behind her bright red sunglasses, but it felt like one of Ruby’s rare dead-serious moments. But just as quickly as it came, it passed. 

“She still believes in her horoscope, crazy old bat. And those are  _ definitely  _ fake.”

They shared a chuckle, but Ruby’s lack of refutal was kind of a big deal, as her friend never beat around the bush. 

Emma turned back to the book. Conveniently, the next passage was the one she'd been looking forward to most:

_ A  _ **_gancanagh_ ** _ (/ɡænˈkænə/) (from Irish gean cánach, meaning "love talker") is a male fairy in Irish mythology that is known for seducing human women. [x] _

Nothing else was written, but  _ wait a minute _ —if he was actually trying to get in her pants, wouldn’t he have? He was bigger and stronger than her, for sure, so it wouldn’t have been hard.

That was when she realized what was so familiar about his expression: he was lonely. It was the look you got when you’d been left behind; one she’d seen in the mirror as a small child, before she went to live with Ruby and Granny, then again as a teenager, and every so often in the past few months when she was really missing the Lucases.

Fae or not, he was probably just looking for a friend—and she really wasn't anyone to scoff at one of those. 

(That, and, as ridiculous as it sounded, she was starting to lean toward the first option as to  _ what _ he was, and her curiosity needed to be sated.)

Four days after her first misadventure in the woods, she decided she had to go back out there; her mind wouldn’t rest until she did.

So she packed a few sandwiches in her bag, along with a jug of water, and was just about to leave when Granny called out to her.

“Just where are you off to, missy?”

“I’m going to take a hike again.” It took everything she could to be casual about it.

Granny narrowed her eyes for a moment, before giving up and shaking her head. “Alright, but don’t complain to me when the gancanagh carries you off.”

“Okay, Granny, I won’t,” she laughed, and then dashed off.

She looked for the path that Killian had taken from the spring to the entrance of the woods, but there was nothing there. Just some close-set trees and mossy rocks she really didn’t want to slip on. It had rained overnight, so everything had an almost magical wet sheen to it, and seemed impossibly greener.  _ Emerald Isle is right _ , she thought, as she started her ascent up one of the trails.

She was glad she’d remembered her raincoat, as the dense trees were still dripping. Which meant that, more than once, she’d slipped on the slick of dirt and fallen leaves that comprised the forest floor.  _ At least I wore my grubby leggings _ .

At every fork, she searched for the glint of sun on water, or a hint of pink blossom. But at each turn, she came up empty, until she was hopelessly lost again.  _ This damn thing is like Brigadoon. Oh, wait, that was Scotland, though, wasn’t it? Ugh, it’s all the same; the damn Celts and their damn—uf!  _ She was so busy cursing out all of the British Isles that she didn’t notice the slimy tree stump in her path, and went flying as soon as her muddy rainboot connected with it.

But this time, instead of becoming re-acquainted with the ground, a pair of strong arms grabbed her.

“Do you make a habit of getting lost in the forest, Swan?” She looked up; Killian was grinning at her with amusement.

His bright blue eyes were better in person than her imagination, and she lost her entire train of thought as he helped her to her feet.  _ It’s him! It’s really him!  _

“Well, maybe your forest shouldn’t be so confusing,” she retorted when she finally got her voice back. It wasn’t a great comeback, but it was something.

“I’d say I know what you mean, but like I told you: I have an accord with the trees.” Before she had a chance to ask about that, he continued. “What brought you back to the woods today?”

“I was looking for you.” He seemed just as shocked as she was at the admission;  _ way to lay all your cards on the table, Emma _ . But then he smiled at her again, and those fears that always lie at the back of her brain—warning her not to reveal too much or get too close—went away.

“I see you’ve brought food, Emma; would you like to have a picnic?” The request surprised her, but  _ hey, potentially mythological creatures gotta eat, too _ .

“Okay. Where?”

“Follow me.” Just like before, there was a path through the woods that hadn’t been there a second ago; ahead, she could see the trees moving—actually moving—out of their way.

She could tell she was open-mouth staring but  _ the trees are moving. Am I in Narnia? Or Middle Earth? _

He started down the new path, pausing for a moment to glance back at her with a smirk and a chuckle, and then kept going.

Emma found herself following him without even thinking (partly because she didn’t want to get lost again; partly because this was why she was out here in the first place; and partly because those leather pants were doing the work of a higher being on his backside). A rustle behind her made her jump; she turned to see that as soon as she passed, the trees moved back to where they had been, gliding effortlessly through the soil.

Killian was a bit ahead of her, so she jogged to catch up. “How did you do that?” she asked, not trying at all to hide the wonder in her voice.

“I asked them.”

“You asked them,” she parroted back, incredulous.

“Aye. When you’ve spent as many years with them as I have, you become more than just acquaintances.”

“Well, it can’t have been  _ that  _ long.” He looked like he was barely older than her.

“No; I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, 200 years isn’t  _ that _ long, but—”

“Wait, what?” She nearly ran into his back, because he had suddenly stopped; they were at the meadow from the other day, flowers just as pink and spring just as bubbly, and she was distracted again. “You found it! I was trying to; that’s how I got lost.”

He blushed, his sharp cheekbones now matching the color of the middlemist. “I, ah, may have put an enchantment on it so only I can find it.” Despite his bashfulness, there was something melancholy in how he stared into space after that admission. But he visibly changed topics, shaking his head and putting on an almost fake smile (definitely a move she’d used before). “Now, how about that picnic?” In the blink of an eye, he was spreading a blanket on the ground right in the middle of the flowers, which he seemed to have an accord with, too, as they’d also moved out of the way. When she sat down on it, she noticed that it was quite plush, and woven from moss and clover. 

For some reason, that was what finally confirmed it for her. “You’re really fae.”

“Aye; I thought we covered that already?” he said quizzically as he knelt down.

“I know, but...I didn’t realize it was real until just now.” 

He had started taking sandwiches out of her bag, which were somehow un-smushed. “You seemed to be aware of my other identity the other day,” he stated confidently, not breaking concentration from his task.

“Well, yeah, but I thought it was just a bedtime story I grew up with. I heard about all kinds of fae, but I thought they were just that. Just...fairy tales.” She’d certainly wished they were real; many, many times, because they usually ended happy, and so much of her life hadn’t been. 

“I hate to disappoint, Emma, but we fae, and magic, are very much real.”

She’d seen enough to know that now, and something in her gut told her that her life would never be the same with that knowledge. Not after moving trees, floral quilts, and the inhumanly, impossibly good-looking man who seemed to take a liking to her as much a she had to him.

What was that line from  _ Pirates of the Caribbean _ ?  _ “You’d best start believin’ in ghost stories...you’re in one.” _

Just like that Swann, Emma got the feeling she was just at the precipice of her adventure, only she was about to embark on a real-life fairy tale.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in updating! But here's the next chapter. I promise I won't take five weeks for the rest.

This was real. This was actually happening. Emma was sitting in a magically protected meadow, having a picnic consisting of Granny’s cold-cut sandwiches and fresh spring water, with an honest-to-god, devilishly handsome fae.

Any normal person would have chalked it up to a delusion, a hallucination, or at the very least, an intricate daydream, but Emma—someone who had most of the whimsy knocked out of her in her teen years—found herself all too quickly accepting it (though whether it was due to some irrefutable fact or that she simply wanted to was up for debate).

What was not up for questioning was the look she was getting just now from Killian; he was staring at her intently, as if trying to read her. “If you didn’t think it—I—was real, then why did you come back?”

_ Fair point _ . “For one, I have a superpower: I know when someone is lying, and you weren’t lying. Although I  _ am  _ still wrapping my head around it. This is pretty incredible for any human to believe.”

“I imagine so.” He smirked in amusement.

“The moving trees helped,” she added with a chuckle. “But mainly…” She swallowed and took a deep breath to build herself up for the next part. “I recognized the same loneliness in your eyes that I see in mine.”

He stilled and sat back on his knees, studying the blanket, the humor gone from his face. “Too right you are, Swan.” He picked up one of the sandwiches, still wrapped in plastic, and offered it to her, looking up through his ridiculously long lashes. She took it gingerly, getting the sudden feeling that she’d mucked it all up.

“I don’t think you’re gancanagh, though,” she stated quickly, hoping to change the subject, if not lighten the mood. 

He looked up from his sandwich at her, an eyebrow raised in question. “Oh? And why is that?”

“You didn’t try to seduce me and take me for all I’m worth.”

“What if I still am?”

“You’re not,” she replied confidently.

She peeled off the plastic wrap and dug in, glancing up to see that the wrap on his had completely disappeared. “Did you just poof the wrap away?”

“‘Poof’?” He’d clearly never heard that term before.

“Make it disappear?”

He snorted. “Aye; there are many things from your world that I’m not familiar with, so it’s easier to just dispense of them.”

She thought back to his comment on how long he’d known the trees. “Just how long have you been here?”

He looked up, like people do when making a mental tally. “What year is it?” 

“2016.” 

“Then I suppose that makes me...228 years old, and I’ve been here for about 197 of those.”

“All by yourself?” she blurted out.

He nodded solemnly. “Aye.”

“And I’m guessing it wasn’t by choice?” ( _ Oh, come on, Emma—like it ever is _ .)

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”

She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Maybe I’ve been there before.”

“Now who could leave behind a lass as brilliant as you?” His eyes twinkled with flirtation, but she could sense the real disbelief in his question.

She couldn’t help but scoff.  _ I can definitely see why people would think he was gancanagh _ . “Please, you barely know me.”

“Perhaps I would like to.” She looked at him; again, he was telling the truth, and his intense gaze seemed to go right through her. Unconsciously, she started rubbing the flower-shaped birthmark on her wrist—it was a nervous habit she'd developed as a kid, but rubbing her “tattoo,” as she sometimes called it, helped calm her. 

_ Okay, he asked for it _ . She took a deep breath and started. “Well, if you want the whole sob story: I was found abandoned on the side of the road as a day-old infant and bounced around the foster care system until I was taken in by Granny—not my actual grandma; just what everyone calls her—when I was 8 or so. And then everything was great until a guy convinced me to run away with him; and I did, because I was in love, and we thieved our way across the US until he set me up for his crime, disappeared, and I did a year in jail. So now, I trace bond skippers for a living and the only people I’m close with are Granny and Ruby, because they’re the only ones that have never let me down, until they moved here a year ago.” She exhaled, realizing she hadn’t let go of that breath—and also that it was the first time she’d told her tale to anyone since Neal. 

He’d listened intently to the whole thing; regardless of his status as supernatural being, that was more than any guy had done in a long time. “That is quite the tale, Swan.” He reached out to place his hand over hers in a calming, sympathetic gesture, but all she felt was those same sparks from when they touched the other day. Hell, she thought she saw them, but then again, she was sitting on a blanket made from plants and magic; for all she knew, that was commonplace.

“Alright, your turn. What’s your tale of woe?”

“You sure you want to hear it? I’m afraid I don’t look as good as I do in this light.”

_ He really does look good in this light _ ; the clouds had broken—or at least, they’d broken over the meadow. His expression had sobered, and the playfulness in his eyes had dissipated, but they still shone their brilliant ocean blue, made lighter by the sun. 

Plus, he hadn’t judged her story; most people heard “convict” and ran for the hills. She owed it to him to hear him out. “I’m a big girl; I can handle it.”

He brushed the crumbs off his hands against his trousers, done with his sandwich, and stood. “Perhaps we can go for a short journey as we do? There’s something I’d like to show you.” He offered her his hand.

Quickly, she balled up the plastic wrap for her sandwich and stuck it in her bag—no way was she littering his apparent Meadow of Solitude—and let him help her up. 

He let go of her hand as he set off toward a far corner of the clearing she hadn’t been to yet and she immediately felt the loss of his presence.  _ Get a grip, girl; now you’re the one who barely knows him _ . She hurried to stay close behind as the trees again parted, and put them on a trail that looked even more ancient and abandoned than the one she ended up lost on before their first encounter. Maybe it was still the effects of last night’s rain, or maybe it was the stars in her eyes from being around him, but the forest somehow seemed more magical—like the already-moving trees would just start glowing and float off like those lanterns in  _ Tangled _ , or fireflies would surround them like in  _ The Little Mermaid _ . (Yes, all her fantasies revolved around Disney movies; was that a problem?)

(Actually, that wasn’t true any longer—they were probably going to include Killian more and more.)

As they walked, he started his story.

“I grew up in fae society, and we used to wander all over these woods, hiding in plain sight, I suppose. Mortals, such as yourself, came across us from time to time, but we generally had no reason to socialize with each other. I, however, being the rebellious young man that I was, just had to go and flout status quo.”

She’d certainly done enough of that in her day. She listened intently as he continued his tale, subconsciously noting that she’d be willing to listen to his pleasing accent all day.

“I made a habit of visiting a mortal village on the coast—probably the same one your ‘Granny’ lives in.” She held back a snicker at the odd way he said her name. “I frequented a tavern there, and over time, I met a woman.”

Despite the mugginess of the forest, a brief chill went down her spine.  _ So this is where everything turns out to be too good to be true, huh? _

“She had such a strong, fierce spirit, I was gone from the start. But she was mortal, and she was married, and therein the problems lain.”

“I’d say so.”

“For starters, while it’s not forbidden to mingle with mortals, it is against the law to fall in love with them. I wasn’t exactly subtle about it, so it didn’t take long for my affections to be discovered. My brother, Liam, tried to plead my case to the high court, but it was no use, as I refused to denounce my feelings. And I was banished.”

“Oh, Killian…” She certainly knew what it was to be an outsider, but to have once had a home? And a family? And to be abandoned by them—by people you knew and loved? She couldn’t fathom it.  _ Maybe it’s a good thing I never knew mine _ .

“It stung, but I didn’t think it was the end of the world. By this point, my love had plans to leave her husband for me, and I intended to give up my immortality for her.”

“Wow; that’s dedication.” She was impressed that he was able to love that fiercely, and part of her was jealous of this woman, that she had someone so devoted to her; another part was pained because she had never—and likely would never—know anything like that.

“I was in love, and that was all I had. Nothing would have made me happier at the time.”

She was curious. “And just how does one give up their immortality?”

“I believe the proper term would be to ‘lay’ with a mortal.”

She blushed a little;  _ I guess that’s fitting _ . Until she realized: “But...you’re still immortal.”

He looked down. “Aye. We’d made our plans for her to run away, but her husband found out. We were about to leave when he...he killed her.”

Emma stopped in her tracks. If it weren’t for her lie detector, she’d be calling bullshit on the whole thing—there was no way one person could handle that much heartbreak without snapping. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

He nodded, but kind of winced, too. “I wouldn’t say that just yet.”

“Why not?”

“After she was murdered, I made it my goal to kill her husband. That’s another fae rule: we cannot kill. We are physically incapable of it, lest we die as well. I didn’t care, though, and for years I searched for the man, who turned out to be a wizard of sorts. I used torture; flirtation; whatever method got me what I wanted.” He smirked here, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s probably where the gancanagh reputation came from; I made my way to many a young woman’s bed, only to steal her food and gold before anything more intimate happened.”

She snorted. “I was a thief most of my teenage years; I can’t judge you on that one. But can’t you just make food appear?”

“No; it’s against the laws of magic.” A happier smirk came on his face as he saw her confusion over that.  _ Looks like Harry Potter was more fact than fiction there _ .

But she wanted to hear more of his story. “So I’m guessing either you’re still looking for this man, or you didn’t kill him.”

“No, I didn’t kill him, and I’ve no idea what finally did him in. But my quest ended in a graveyard, staring down at his name carved in stone.”

_ Damn _ . Was there some kind of fae known for storytelling? Because that’s what he must be; she felt almost viscerally hollow at that end—and knowing that was actually his life made it all the worse. 

His eyes were still trained on the forest floor, and his hair was hanging over them. She wanted to crack a joke about how he looked like he’d walked out of a Hot Topic, but now was not the time. Instead, she ran a bit to catch up and took his hand in hers, squeezing in an attempt to comfort him. She was never good at words of comfort, but had come to discover just how much a loving hand or embrace could do.

( _ Wait—loving? _ )

( _ Nope; can’t think about that. _ ) But she did know that wasn’t the end of his story—only part of it. “So what happened next?”

“Hm?” He seemed confused by what she thought was an obvious question.

“You didn’t kill him; what did you do after that?”

“Oh, nothing of consequence. I found that meadow not long after I was banished, and sealed it off from anyone. Middlemist were her favorite. So when I’m not there, I wander the woods and acquire food as needed. Every now and then, I head into a town for some provisions, keep up the myth of the gancanagh, but otherwise, I keep to myself.”

“There's no other fae around to hang out with?”

“Every now and then, I run into someone, but all magical creatures can recognize each other—just a sixth sense we have—and that also means they can tell I've been expelled. Just an extra mark on my aura, I suppose.”

As if her heart wasn't already breaking for him, that just made it worse. She couldn't imagine being the only one of her kind. “Why not join human society?”

“I would never fit in. Not with my past, and not with what I am; I’m far too different.”

“You get along just fine with me.”

“True enough; but I think you might just be special.” He winked at her, and she had to look away; what was special about her? Sure, Granny had told her that when she was a kid, while kissing her birthmark, but that was obligatory: older people always told kids that. No guy had ever told her that, even when they were just after sex. And here this man—who mays as well be a demigod—tells her it so honestly and like it’s the most well-known fact ever.

What else could she do but refute it?

“Ha. That’s a new one.”

“Well, it’s true.”

She just rolled her eyes and kept going. She hadn’t noticed the trees thinning as they walked, but suddenly, they were gone completely and she and Killian were near the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea. “Wow,” she gasped; it was an absolutely incredible view, but she doubted she could do it justice like the apparent poet next to her could.

“This was another way I broke fae norms: as a species, we tend to stick to the forest, but I could never deny the call of the sea, nor could my brother. We’d spend hours gazing at the horizon. Whenever I feel particularly frustrated, I come here to calm down. Other than the meadow, it’s my favorite place.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You really don’t have a hard time keeping up that gancanagh image, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Why do you do it?”

“It keeps people at bay. That, and it’s fun.”

“Good enough reasons, I suppose.” Hell, that was part of why she worked in bail bonds.

She glanced at her phone to check the time, not missing his curious expression when she pulled out the device. She didn’t realize how long she’d been gone. “Crap, I need to start heading back before Granny has a conniption. Will you show me the way?”

“Of course, milady.” And like a proper gentleman, he offered his arm as they took off back through the woods. She could feel her cheeks and ears flush pink as she took it, but who was she to deny him?

The walk back seemed to take a fraction of the time of getting to the cliff, but she was starting to get used to this wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey magical stuff, and decided to not let it get to her. When they passed through the meadow, he again picked a middlemist for her, tucking it gently behind her ear.

“There; you look a proper fae princess.” She giggled; in that moment, she certainly felt like one.

He again escorted her to the edge of the road leading back to town, but seemed hesitant to go any farther; she understood why now.

Shyly, he scratched behind his ear, and then swallowed as if mustering courage. “Might I see you tomorrow, Emma?” There was a gentle plea in his eyes—not begging, but hoping.

“I think that can be arranged.” She saw no sense in playing coy when that was what she wanted, too.

“Don’t get lost this time.”

“I’ll try.”

This time, when he kissed her hand in farewell, she felt the tingle go from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes.

Granny gave her another suspicious look when she got back, but Emma was happily surprised to find that she simply didn’t care.

* * *

She didn’t hesitate at all to head to the forest the next day, or the day after, or for the rest of her stay. It became something of a tradition for the rest of that week: she’d pack a picnic lunch, they’d eat in the meadow, and then he’d take her to various spots around the forest while they discussed...well, everything, but mostly her questions about him and fae in general. He did have questions of his own, like “what’s a selfie?” and “what is the purpose of a rubber duck?”, but kindly humored all of hers.

(She totally answered the selfie one with a live demonstration, and promptly made the picture her phone’s background.)

On their first planned excursion, he took her to a seemingly hidden waterfall near the coast—she hadn’t read about it on any map or heard of it from the locals. Despite the grey ocean it flowed into, it was swamped with lush green foliage that didn’t look like any she’d seen elsewhere in Ireland.

“How does that happen? And your meadow? Are they magic?” she asked as she sat off to the side of the small pool the cascade fell into; the soft, cool spray was hitting her galoshes and jeans, but all she could feel was his warmth next to her as they sat gazing into the clear water.

“Sort of—they’re parts of the fae realm.”

“Realm? I figured we all lived in the same one.”

“Eh, technically, yes; but there is also a hidden fae realm that sits adjacent to this one, if that makes any sense.”

“Like another plane of existence?” She had spent a bit too much time a few years ago watching theoretical science videos on YouTube.

“I suppose that’s the best way to describe it. There are entrances all over in your realm, and with most of them, only fae can pass through.”

“Then how am I here?”

“Like, I said, you’re special.”

She froze for a minute, contemplating what she thought he was insinuating.  _ I’m not a...no, I couldn’t be a… _

“It’s because you’re with me and I let you in,” he answered teasingly, clearly sensing her brief identity crisis.

“Then why not go back home?”

He looked down into the pool. His face fell a bit and she immediately regretted the question. But he replied before she told him he didn’t have to answer. “All the main portals—the ones that would lead me back to anyone or anywhere—I’ve been blocked from entering. You’d have no better a chance of getting in than I.”

_ So that’s why he stays here _ . A lot of her unasked questions suddenly had an answer—and she knew all too well what it was like to make a home with what you had and not what you wanted.

Echoing her action from the previous day, she interlocked her fingers with his and gave a gentle squeeze. It seemed to work, and a small smile pulled up the corners of his mouth and cut those dimples she was coming to adore into his scruff.

“I have another question,” she asked in a stereotypically girlish tone, hoping to lighten the mood. “Do fae have wings?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Seriously, Swan?”

“You’ve already got the pointed ears; I thought fairies had wings, too!” she added with a small giggle, thinking back on literally every single representation of fae she’d ever seen. (She wouldn’t hurt his pride by saying that Tinkerbell was the first one to pop into her mind, though.)

He sighed and looked away. “Fair warning: this won't be all that pretty.”  _ Well, I find that hard to believe _ . Slowly, a blue light began to glow from his back, then burst away from him. And her jaw dropped.

_ Oh my God, he actually has wings _ . They came out from his shoulder blades, as if his clothes were nothing, and though nearly transparent, were the same bright shade of blue as his eyes, with some darker accents throughout. They were shaped similar to a butterfly’s, except the left one—once she looked at it closer, she could tell it had been damaged somehow; it looked painfully mangled and seemed to be missing a part. She involuntarily reached toward them, but then pulled back. 

“It’s okay to touch; it won’t hurt me.” She was pulled from her gaping by his comment, and looked over to see him smirking at her playfully. As gentle as she could, she reached up to graze the back of her hand against the right wing. But before she touched it, he fluttered it, startling her. 

She glared as he chuckled. “Fine. I didn’t want to touch your stupid wings anyway.”

“Sorry, love; couldn’t resist. Have another go.” This time, he didn’t move a muscle; actually, he was unnaturally still as she brushed her hand against the gossamer wing. It was cool to the touch, but solid and strong, if thin, and reminded her of a leaf.

Her glance drifted to the left one. “Can I ask what happened?”

“Oh, that,” he replied nonchalantly. “I came close to exacting revenge on the man who killed my love, but...he got to me first.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No, not anymore. Doesn't feel much of anything, actually.” His calm explanation surprised her, but in the grand scheme of things, she supposed a broken wing was nothing on a broken heart. 

“Can you fly?” That was clearly her next question.

“Aye, I could.” The use of past tense was not lost on her. “They’re helpful in open areas, but useless against sea winds and cumbersome in the forest, so I'm not at too much a loss without them.”

“Even with your accord with the trees?”

He chuckled. “Even so. It's just easier to keep them hidden. Draws less attention from humans, as well.”

She imagined it was also a painful reminder of what he’d lost, but didn’t voice that. “Well, I think they’re handsome.”  _ Beautiful, glorious, heavenly _ ...a number of exorbitant adjectives came to mind, and none seemed to do them justice. Even the broken one still seemed to shine.

“Is that so?”

“ _ Aye _ ,” she told him, attempting (and failing) to mimic his accent.

“It does feel nice to have them out.”

“I bet.” Hiding any part of yourself was exhausting, and she’d only been doing that for 28 years; she couldn’t imagine how tired of it he must be. “Feel free to air them out whenever you want.” (And she’d certainly admire the view.)

That rosy color that had been appearing on his cheeks more and more popped up again as he smiled, and his wings seemed to beat in response. It had clearly been far too long since anyone had genuinely given him a compliment, much as he had taken to doing for her. She made a silent resolve to try to return the favor as often as possible—he didn’t seem to realize just how awesome he was.

(She was also beginning to wonder how she’d be able to go home and back to her life at the end of the week with all she knew now. But she was content to deal with that later.)

Bashfully, he hid his wings with another flash of light. To change the subject—or just to deflect (she could recognize that easily, given how often she was guilty of it, too)—he stood, pulling her up with him, and promptly proceeded to badger her about “this Netflix thing I’ve been hearing chatter of”. There was only one way to answer that, so they headed back to his meadow and she pulled out her phone to introduce him to  _ Parks & Rec _ , to his endless amazement. She was just happy she got reception, but his reactions were pretty priceless, too.

( _ But really...how am I going to leave this? _ )

* * *

A couple days later, they were lounging in his meadow—on a sofa made of greenery, of course, with his wings on full display—and looked over the book she’d borrowed on fae, assessing which myths were real and which weren’t. (Real: banshees and Cu Sith, to her dismay; not real: leprechauns, surprisingly.) But the book didn’t answer another question she’d had.

“Where do fae come from? Is it like in  _ Peter Pan _ ?”

“ _ When the first baby laughed for the first time, its laugh broke into a thousand pieces, and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies _ ,” he quoted. ( _ I’m impressed _ .) “No, nothing quite like that.”

“Oh yeah? Then where?”

He got a faraway look in his eye as he launched his explanation. “We are born in a flower located in a distant, far off meadow that only exists in the liminal space between waking and dreaming.” She closed her eyes and imagined a tiny, dark-haired babe wrapped in middlemist petals, and she couldn’t think of anything more adorable. “And we’re made of stardust, and beautiful memories, and joyful angel tears. Oh, and sex appeal.”

“What?” Her eyes flew open and she simultaneously glared and gaped at him as he laughed at her reaction and she knew he was pulling her leg.  _ Dammit; that sounded so nice, too _ . “I know you’re a regular Shakespeare over there, but that doesn’t mean you have to pull a fast one on me.”

“Apologies, love; couldn’t resist. I’m afraid it’s nothing that romantic: we come from the same place human babies do.”

“You’re a nerd, you know that?”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.  _ Parks & Rec _ ?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

After a few episodes, she decided to introduce him to  _ Hook _ . He liked it well enough, but protested Tinkerbell’s short stature—stating that while pixies ( _ oh yeah, she’s not a fairy _ ) were small, they weren’t  _ that _ small—and arguing that its portrayal of Hook was unnecessarily malevolent.

It turned out he really was a nerd and had read most of the books in the town’s library, getting a card under a new surname every so often. (“So what’s your last name right now?” “Jones.” “That's nice and inconspicuous.” “That was the idea.”) He was a fan of classic literature, with  _ Peter Pan _ as one of his favorites (as well as Austen, Dickens, and Stevenson), and he sympathized with the “poor bastard captain” as he described him.

“Maybe that’s why you dress as a pirate?”

“I’ll not dignify that with an answer, Swan.”

(She much preferred his look over the perms and mustaches from the original story, anyway.)

After lazing the rest of afternoon away, the grumble of her stomach told her it was near dinner time. She didn’t want to part from him just yet, but she knew Granny and Ruby would worry if she didn’t get back soon; it was bad enough that they were questioning where she was running off to all day.

So maybe it was high time she showed them.

“Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?” she asked shyly.

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Would this be what the modern folk call a ‘date’?”

She playfully slapped his arm. “If you want to call it that.”

“My place or yours?”

“Mine.”  _ If only to make Ruby jealous that I found a guy hotter than hers _ .

“That sounds lovely, Swan. Shall we?” He stood and offered a hand to pull her up; the now-familiar tingling sensation whenever they touched sparked as usual, and she was finding she loved it.

Hand in hand, they started to make their way out of the meadow, but she stopped before they left, pulling him back with a slight jerk.

“Emma, what is it?” His tone told her that he was completely confused by her pause, and by the slightly worried look on her face.

“This might sound awkward, but do you have any other clothes to wear?” As eager as she was to show him off and enjoy a night “out,” she’d rather do it without the stares that would accompany someone dressed like that.

“Oh, how could I forget?” He said it like it was nothing, just before a dark blue mist swirled around him. When it cleared, she almost forgot to breathe: gone were the leather breeches and old-fashioned waistcoat; in their place were perfectly tailored black jeans, a plain black vest over a blue button up (undone just enough to show off his chest hair, of course), and topped off with a leather motorcycle jacket.

_ Shit. He just got hotter. _

“I take it by your silence, this will do?” he asked with a smirk. She closed her mouth—she hadn’t even realized it was open—and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s...that’s more than fine.”

He grinned back at her and gently tugged her hand to lead them on.

The walk back into town was quick and they were soon in front of the diner. She could see Granny cleaning up the counter and Ruby flirting with Graham in a booth. For some reason, she was completely nervous, even though these were the two people who knew her best and were least likely to ever judge her.

Of course, this was also the first time she’d introduced them to a guy since Neal. Hell, he  _ was  _ the first guy since Neal. And neither of them held him in high regard (understandably), so what would they think of Killian?

“You alright?” She should have known he’d pick up on her trepidation—though why else would someone stand on the steps to a restaurant awkwardly staring in instead of just heading inside?

“Yeah. Come on.” Hemming and hawing would just make it worse, so she dragged him inside as quick as possible.

Granny looked up from her task when the bell on the door tinkled, and started on one of her customary greetings. “Well, look what the Cu sith dragged…” She paused when she saw Killian. “Oh. Hello. Who’s this?”

Everything seemed to have gone still in the diner, including Granny and, oddly, Killian, who had stiffened next to her. An intense look crossed between the two that Emma couldn’t read—it wasn’t a glare; more of an assessment.  _ Maybe this is how Granny sizes up dudes now _ .

Not a moment later, Granny gave an almost imperceptible nod that Killian echoed, and then he stepped forward to introduce himself. “Killian Jones, milady. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He had turned the charm back on so hard that Emma nearly forgot the awkward moment prior.

“Jones, eh? I don’t know any Joneses in this town that sound like that.”

“I’m visiting my cousins, the Nolans, for a couple weeks.”

“Oh, lovely family. Tell them I say hi.”

“Will do, ma’am.” 

Seemingly satisfied, Granny turned on Emma. “So this is where you’ve been the past few days?”

“Uh, yeah,” she answered sheepishly.

“I see why.” Granny followed that with a wolfish grin and a wink, making Emma roll her eyes and blush. Granny had never, ever been shy around an attractive guy;  _ should have known she’d do that to Killian, too _ —who, of course, made flirting easy. “You kids go sit down; Ruby! Do I need to remind you that you’re still on the clock?”

Emma could see Ruby give Killian a once-over as they slid into a booth and Ruby hopped up to get their menus. The girls briefly made eye contact and, from her spot behind Killian, Ruby gave a double thumbs-up and mouthed the words “oh yeah!” Emma snorted.

“What’s so funny?” Killian’s question drew her attention back to him.

“Oh, nothing.”

He hummed knowingly, with a raised eyebrow.

She found herself rolling her eyes again, before turning it back on him. “What was that standoff with Granny when we first got here?”

“She looked familiar, is all; and apparently the feeling was mutual.” 

That wasn’t the entire truth, she could tell. “You didn’t seduce her for her chickens, did you?”

“Swan, how could I have when she’s clearly from the States?”

“I dunno; she had a pretty wild youth. And she couldn’t take her eyes of off you.”

“Well, I can hardly help it that I’m devilishly handsome.”

“Nerd.”

“Perhaps she saw my ears? You did say she taught you about fae.”

_ Oh duh, Emma _ . “Yeah, you're probably right.”

She was glad they'd been talking quietly, because Ruby was there to take their orders a second later. 

“My usual, Rubes: grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“Should have known. And you, Mr. Hottie?”

Killian smirked at the nickname—and the way Emma admonished her friend with a shout of “Ruby!” and several punches to the arm—before ordering. 

“Give me all the bacon and eggs you have.”

“Sorry, Ron Swanson; we don't serve breakfast at night.”

“Alas. Then I'll have what she's having.”

Ruby laughed as she walked away; Emma was shaking her head at Killian’s geekery—and knowing full well he didn't know what he'd just referenced. 

They discussed books over dinner, having a heated debate about  _ Wuthering Heights _ when Ruby delivered their food (and pausing so Emma could see his reaction to onion rings, which—judging from his raised eyebrows and the grin that took over his face—seemed to be a hit). A little later, Ruby joined them, which made Emma nervous at first but then she was just embarrassed when Ruby launched into tales of Emma’s youth. Killian, of course, loved them all; Emma’s face grew redder with each one, finally prompting her to bring up the time Ruby was caught drunkenly howling at an almost-full moon by the cops in their hometown and begged Emma to bail her out “before the werewolves got me.”

“Oh, you're no fun, Emma,” Ruby replied stiffly before sliding back out of the booth to help Granny close. For the umpteenth time that night, Emma just rolled her eyes. 

Killian glanced out the window, and Emma followed his gaze; it was long after dark. “Oh crap, I didn't realize how late it was. I should probably let you get back.”

“Aye, probably. But let me escort you to your room?”

She gave him a shy smile. “Alright.” 

They stood and he offered his elbow to her, which she was always glad to take. It had become their normal way of walking lately. 

As she led him to the back of the diner and the stairs that led up to the rooms, Granny called out. “Hey now, no funny business! I'll hear it!”

“Wouldn't dream of it, Lady Lucas!” Killian replied. 

“‘Lady’? Well, you definitely just got into her good graces.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.”

_ That he does _ . Because here, standing outside her door, she was sorely tempted to invite him in—not for anything sexual, but just to continue having his company. He made her feel so at ease and like she was enough, all on her own—something else she’d never had before. 

And if the adoring look in those bright blue eyes was anything to go by, he felt the same. 

But there were only a few days left in her trip, and then there was the obvious issue of him being an entirely different creature from her, even if he didn't look all that different from a human. 

So maybe if she could resist having him close tonight, it'd be easier when she left in a few days. 

“I had a great time tonight.”  _ Oh, way to go with the worst post-date line ever, Emma _ . 

“Aye, me too. I'd love to go out with you again, if you're available.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

He took a step closer to her. “I believe this is the point where I should leave you with a good-night kiss; is it not?”

Her heart rate picked up slightly at his assumption; they'd cuddled and held hands, but never more than that. And she realized that she really, really wanted him to. “Yeah, you're right.”

“Good.” He made another step toward her, but desire overran her and he'd barely moved an inch before she’d grabbed the lapels of his jacket and hauled him in, their lips meeting in a metaphorical shower of sparks that shot through her body. 

It was like no kiss she’d ever had: as their lips and tongues danced, it felt both like a familiar routine she'd done a million times before and something entirely new and exciting. His arms wrapped around her, eliminating any space between them, and the oddest sensation of  _ this is where I'm meant to be _ took hold. 

They had to break apart to breathe, but both ventured a few further pecks on their own as they stayed close. 

“That was…” he started, breathlessly. 

“...incredible,” she finished. They stayed there a moment longer before she remembered that they were still in the hallway, and Granny probably had a stopwatch going to see how long it would be before Killian left. 

Sadly, she took a step back and a breath to regain her resolve. Looking back up at him, there was no other way to describe the wide-eyed look on his face as fuckstruck. A flash of blue behind him caught her eye—his wings had sprung free.

He followed the train of her vision and blushed. “Ah, sorry; that happens sometimes...when I lose myself in emotion.” He seemed to have recovered enough by the end of that statement to lewdly look up at her through his lashes, tongue between his teeth.

_ Damn _ . If she had her own set, she’d have floated right out of the building; “Defying Gravity” started running through her head. It was all she could do to say coyly, “Good night, Killian.”

“Good night,” he sighed. She kept her eyes on him as she opened her door and slipped into her room, all the way until the door was shut. 

She leaned against it until she heard his soft footfalls head down the hall and the stairs, faintly hearing the doorbell jingle as he left. 

And all she knew in that moment was that it was going to be really, really hard to leave, because she was quickly falling in love with him. 

* * *

After Emma and Killian had gone upstairs, both Granny and Ruby noticed an ever so slight flicker of the lights. Moments later, Killian was back in the diner, seemingly in a daze with his fingers on his lips. But he recovered quick enough to bid them good night before heading out the door. 

The women said their farewells to him, caught each other's eyes, and nodded, knowingly. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This update is here much faster than the last! One more to go...  
> also: There is a slightly M-rated scene, so I upped the rating on the story, but it's not quite enough to justify M overall. But if you're not into that, here's your warning.

The days after their impromptu date almost blurred together—Emma couldn't remember a time she'd been so happy and had so much fun; not since her lone childhood trip to Disney World (bless Granny's heart, they'd scrimped and saved to go—but it was definitely a one-time thing).

The following night, after spending all day hiking along the coast and searching through more hidden waterfalls and caves, Killian surprised her with a boat outing complete with a picnic dinner.

Insecurities briefly flared when she asked how he could afford the boat rental—knowing how he usually flirted to get money and worrying again if she'd interpreted this whole thing wrong—but he was quick to assure her that it was money he'd had saved away. (He did admit to using a bit of charm on the fishing boat's grumpy owner. "He wasn't my type at all, though: short and bearded. I much prefer the likes of you, Swan.")

She was impressed that he knew how to operate the motorized boat. "I figured you'd be more comfortable at the helm of a big sailing ship, with you being a pirate and all," she told him with a wink.

"Ha ha, Swan. I happen to be a quick learner and I read some guides from the library in the past."

"Is that so?"

"Aye." Then he smirked. "And I, ah, may have taken one or two out for a spin in the past, not necessarily with the owner's consent."

"I KNEW you were a pirate! My fairy godpirate."

"Only yours, Emma."

Once they got a good way out, Killian dropped anchor and they dug into dinner on the deck: her favorite from Granny's. ( _God, could he be any sweeter?_ ) When they were done, they lay side by side on the picnic blanket staring up at the stars as he pointed out constellations to her; it seemed like he knew all of them.

"Did you study these, or are they the same in the fae realm?"

"A little of both. Fae use them for navigation, much like sailors in this realm used to, so I learned them as a child. Though it was interesting to learn the difference between how humans interpret them and how we do."

"Like what?"

"Well, your Ursa Major is our squash."

"A squash? Like the gourd?"

"Yes; many of ours come from nature. We don't believe anyone put them up there like humans do, so we just use their general shape."

She scanned the sky until she found the familiar shape of the Big Dipper, which was harder than usual given the extremely clear night—she'd never seen so many stars. And she had to admit, it did look quite a bit like a yellow squash. _Guess I'm never looking at that one the same way again_. "Are any of them the same for both?" she wondered.

"One. And it's always been my favorite, my whole life." Even though she was looking at the sky, she could feel his intense gaze on her.

"Oh yeah? Which?"

"Cygnus, though we just call it the swan." He reached over and intertwined his fingers with hers, before drawing them up to point at the constellation. "It's always been my connection to home."

The logical part of her brain shrugged that off as coincidence, but the romantic part of her—the part that had been fueled by too many girls' nights with rom coms and wine at Ruby's—was melting into a puddle, and she was trying to quiet the voice that screamed It's fate!

Instead, she scooched closer into Killian's side and wrapped her free arm around him while he did the same to her. Feeling a little forward after his admission, she rested her head on his chest and he tucked her in even tighter. Part of her thought she could lay there forever, but he had to get the boat back by midnight. All too soon, they were back on land and he was escorting her up to Granny's front steps, kissing her good night in front of the window that _definitely_ didn't have two ladies peeking through the blinds (it totally did). She could have sworn she saw the lights flicker when they kissed, but chalked it up to him just being that fantastic a kisser.

* * *

The next day was more of the same: hiking, spending time on his cliff, and dinner at the diner, where Granny proceeded to put Killian through 21 Questions about his life. And, to her amazement, he had a full story ready: Killian Jones, age 31, from England; lived with his brother until said brother got married, then moved into a bachelor pad and was hopelessly alone with his books and his job (in his made-up life, he was a Navy vet-turned-shipwright). It was a pretty perfect modern version of his life, though she noticed that in this version, he still had his brother; he didn't talk about the other man much, but she could tell he missed Liam deeply.

Again, at the end of the night, he escorted her to her room, bid her adieu with a world-rocking kiss—complete with wings out again—and left with the promise of further adventures the next day. In her room, she added that day's middlemist to the collection in the vase on her dresser—it now contained a small bouquet of the mystical flower, one for each day they'd spent together. The sweet, rose-like perfume filled the space and brought a pop of color to the otherwise drab room.

She counted the flowers in the vase, but it hit her especially hard that she'd only be able to add two, at most, to the collection: she was leaving in three days. They had tomorrow and the following day—her birthday—and then she was back on the plane to Boston.

He knew her departure date, but didn't seem worried at all. And she didn't know how that should make her feel. Was he planning on trying to make this work? Or did he figure it'd be over when she left? Signs pointed to the former, but life had taught her to expect the latter.

She tossed and turned that night as her thoughts warred, giving up at some point in favor of James Corden and reruns of some old drama set in a clinic, hoping the sound and lights would distract her from her thoughts.

It must have worked, because she eventually saw the sun casting its gray light on the horizon through her room's thin curtains. She was equally wary and excited in her anticipation for the day, and hoped that maybe she could just watch the morning news and will the rest of today to hold off. But eventually, her stomach started grumbling and she could hear the banging of pots and pans downstairs as Granny got ready for the breakfast rush.

Emma headed down and took what had become her normal spot at the counter; a piping hot cocoa with cinnamon was already waiting for her. _Oh, I definitely need this today_. The warm, chocolatey taste—with just a hint of cinnamon, exactly how she liked it—helped calm her nerves; so much so that she finished it in just a few gulps.

"Is that a new drinking game?" Ruby joked as she came out from the kitchen. "Cocoa chugging? Because I can add some peppermint schnapps if you want. Or, probably more appropriate for you: Fireball."

"Ew, no. Not the booze part; the chugging part. I think you spend too much time in that pub."

"Well, there's no other bar around here."

"That's true," Emma said with a nod and a smirk.

"Want another?"

"Yeah, I need it."

"Uh oh."

"Uh oh what?" Ruby didn't answer as she grabbed Emma's mug and went to refill it at the coffee station. "Uh oh _what_ , Ruby?"

Ruby side-eyed her while filling the mug, then sauntered—actually sauntered, in her 4-inch red heels—back over, setting it down with a smug look. "You only drink copious amounts of cocoa when something is seriously bugging you. Spill."

"I'm fine," Emma lied as she took a sip.

"Yeah, and I'm going to start raiding Granny's closet. What's up, Emma?"

Ruby was the most persistent person Emma knew; trying to get out of this conversation was fruitless. "It's Killian."

"Ooo-ooh!" Ruby singsonged. "What about Mr. Sexy Stuff?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Just...I don't know what to do. I'm leaving in two days and he's...here." _And he's an immortal being with magic powers and I'm just a lame, boring...human, who can't possibly measure up._

"Mmm," Ruby hummed. "Well, the way I see it, there's only one thing for you to do."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Tell him you like him."

Emma nearly spat out the next sip of cocoa. "Ruby, I can't do that! You never tell a guy you like him; it makes you look like an idiot!"

"Or it shows him you're a take-charge woman in control of her own destiny and you're letting him know that he's what you want."

Emma groaned. Ruby was right, but she made it sound so easy—she had no idea how complicated the situation really was. Still, the only way to find out what his intentions were would be to let him know where she stood.

She finished her second cocoa, much slower this time, and mulled over what she should do. But anything she came up with just sounded lame and cheesy. It wasn't like she was trying to impress him, but she'd at least like to not come across as a teenage girl (though did he even know what teenage girls were like? _What about teenage fae girls? Ugh!_ ).

Her thoughts were running away from her, she knew, but she couldn't help it if she had a tendency to overanalyze every situation, which came in handy in her line of work, but not so much in personal relations.

There was only one option, really: just go to him and spit it out.

* * *

Except that was easier said than done. Of course, charming man that he was, he immediately greeted her with a chaste kiss and had already laid out a picnic. The sun, as always, was shining on the meadow, not a cloud in the sky—which was exceedingly rare for Ireland, she'd discovered.

After a delicious meal from Granny's rival cafe, Auntie's (she made him promise to keep the source from Granny lest he face her wrath), Killian was watching _Parks & Rec_ while she sat next to him braiding a flower crown from middlemist and a small blue flower that looked an awful lot like her birthmark. But she must have been crafting violently or something, because Killian hadn't gotten very far into the smallest park episode when he paused it and said, "You seem vexed, Swan. What is it?"

"Nothing," she replied way too forcefully.

He sat up from where he'd been reclining—looking all manner of sinful even in his relaxed state ( _damn that red vest_ )—and scooched a little closer to her. "You're an open book, love; what's wrong?"

She sighed and set the crown aside. Of course he'd see right through everything. Ruby's words were clanging around her head, even if she still didn't know how to voice them. But maybe she could manage to bumble through it.

"You know I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, right?"

"Aye." There was a hint of sadness in his tone, but his expression hadn't changed from the caring concern it held a moment ago.

"So, I guess I just...wanted to know...what happens next."

"What do you want to happen next?"

She shouldn't have been floored by the question, but she was. Her worries had been so focused on what he wanted that she'd barely given her own desires much thought. But after a moment, it couldn't have been clearer.

"I still want to be with you. I...I like you." Deep down, she knew that was only the half of it.

True to form, he smirked. "You _like_ me? Is that so?"

She blushed and playfully swatted his arm. "Shut up. Does that really surprise you?"

"I suppose not. Quite appropriate, really."

"Why is that?"

"Because I rather fancy you, too."

She gave a small, tight-lipped smile, but that didn't really answer anything for her, and he'd yet to address her first admission. "Okay, but, Killian, what does that mean? Does that mean I'm going to go home and we're both going to forget this ever happened, or does it mean...something more?"

"Emma, love," he said, taking her hands in his, "as you just said, you'd like to stay together. And I've a confession: I feel the same. I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love...until I met you. You're the first person to seek me out in centuries; that means more than you will ever know. And these past several days with you have been my best in many, many years."

His admission washed over her like that enchanted waterfall, rendering her speechless. To have that profound an effect on a person—anyone, really—was a little overwhelming. And it wasn't just her lie detector (or rather, the lack of any warning in that department) that told her he was telling the truth: when she looked into his eyes, she noticed that that lingering melancholy she'd immediately picked up on at first was nearly gone, replaced with sparkling hope.

Part of her was screaming that she was in too deep, and to back out now before they both got hurt; but a larger—and growing—part was realizing that he'd done the same to her. He was the first guy who'd made her forget the pain Neal had wrought, and the first person who wasn't her family to seek out her company.

But, as usual, her words failed her. "So, I guess you really do like me, too."

He snorted. "I suppose." The serious look came back on his face, though, as he drew up one of her hands to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it; even that was enough to send a shock coursing through her body. "Indeed I do, Emma, and I'm in this for the long haul, if you'll have me."

She sucked in a breath. "Does that mean you'd come back to Boston with me?"

"If that's what you desire, Emma, then I would love to. Now that I've had a life with you, I cannot bear to think of one without."

"You'd have to get a job, you know. It wouldn't be all fun and fairy dust."

"I think I can handle that," he said with a smirk. "As long as I'm with you, Emma, I'll have all I need."

She couldn't take it any longer. How had she gotten so lucky to have this incredible, gorgeous, sassy, magical, pointy-eared bastard as hers? So she yanked him to her with the hand that was holding hers, placing a searing kiss on his lips that vibrated through her whole being, and she swore she could feel it in his, too, if the flutter of his now-exposed wings was any indication.

"I can think of one thing you'll need," she said in pants while trying to catch her breath after they (finally) broke apart.

"What's that?" He sounded as breathless as she did.

"An American passport."

"Why not Irish?"

"I don't wanna deal with immigration."

"Fair enough." And, magically—like everything in her life now, apparently—there was a passport in his hand, for one Killian Jones, 31, of Cambridge, MA. A replica so good, customs wouldn't be able to tell it was conjured. She was impressed.

"Jeez, is there anything you can't do with magic?"

"Quite a bit, love, but a simple conjuring is nothing. Do you think I need to work on my accent?"

"No, we'll just say you're an ex-pat or something. Oh, I can't wait!" she exclaimed (uncharacteristically, she had to admit) as she launched herself back at him, tucking herself into his neck as her arms came around his sides. He pulled her close, too, and she could feel his scruff scratch her cheek as he smiled.

One last sobering thought worked its way into her bliss. "Are you sure you won't miss this place?" She glanced around; this meadow was literally magic, and had essentially been his home far longer than she'd been alive.

"Why would I miss somewhere I was alone?" The only response she had was to kiss him again. And again. And maybe a few times more, before dissolving into a happy sigh. She knew there was a lot to figure out logistically, but for right now, she was happy to just be with him.

They spent another hour or so in quiet, happy company, him resuming his show and her finishing the flower crown (she put it on his head at first, but he only wore it long enough for her to snap a picture—wings and all—before insisting that it looked better on her). Then he set the tablet aside and pulled her to standing with him. "Come; there's one more place I want to show you."

Of course, she obliged, following him out of the meadow and through the always-damp woods, over a path that barely existed; she had to take care to look for tree roots sticking up from the ground so she didn't trip. Killian either knew where they all were or the trees were helping him and frankly, she'd believe either.

Soon, they arrived at another meadow. Old, gnarled trees stood tangled together on one end, and the rest of the clearing was covered in wildflowers and clover. It wasn't as impressive as Killian's, but she could still feel that quiet hum of magic that seemed to vibrate from the ground and permeate the air. "Where are we?"

He suddenly seemed slightly nervous. "This is an entry point into the Enchanted Forest—the fae realm. Right through those trees," he added, pointing at the ancient wood. Sure enough, she hadn't noticed at first but they were twisted in an arch shape, just like a doorway. "It's the one I came from when I was banished." She gulped; _yeah, you'd be nervous, too, if you were back where you'd been abandoned_. (She had gone back, once, to that roadside in Maine where she was found; she could barely stomach it.) "I just...need to check something."

Next to her, Killian took a deep breath and stepped toward the trees. Emma felt her own breathing still as he got closer, not quite sure what would happen or what he was after.

He paused just before he reached the arch to free his wings before continuing to move toward the trees. He lifted a hand when he was in front of them, as if groping for something in the dark. Emma was frozen in place, watching the scene unfurl; _what if he can go back in? What do I do then?_

Killian reached through the arc, and a dim white light shone where his hand hit the invisible barrier in between the realms. Emma's heart was racing as he moved forward and the light glowed brighter, almost blinding her and engulfing him.

But, a moment later, he stood on the other side of the arch, still in her view. He tucked his wings away and looked over his shoulder at her, smiling. She was still on edge, though—did he pass through? Or is he still here?

Her questions were answered not a moment later when he ran around the outside of the trees to her and she sighed in relief. "What was that all about?" she exclaimed, with more than a hint of annoyance and fear in her voice as he embraced her.

He pulled back, looking down. "I couldn't leave without trying one more time...to see if I was still cast out. Looks like I am." Why he was smirking at that was beyond her. She knew where he was coming from, but the fact that he'd try—well, it hurt a bit.

She gulped. "What if you had entered? Would you have gone back?"

"I'd have found my brother, told him of the amazing woman I'd met, bit my thumb at their rules one last time, and returned to you."

She'd been studying the forest floor during his explanation but looked up at the last part. "Really?"

"Always, Emma. Nothing could keep me away. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."

She sighed again—the kind the girl in a rom com makes when her crush reveals his feelings. _Maybe I am living a movie._

So, to fulfill every film cliche, she leaned into him, lips meeting in a fairy tale kiss; her foot even popped. She realized that she'd probably never get enough of being this close to Killian, and dreams of being even closer danced in her mind.

Rain started falling, cold drops that made them jump apart. "Guess that's a sign to head on, love. Dinner at Granny's?"

"You read my mind. Wait, you didn't really, did you?"

"No, I did not," he answered with a chuckle as they headed back to his meadow, hand in hand.

The rain had made the already tricky path even more treacherous, and more than once she slipped on a slimy stone or patch of moss—but Killian was always there to catch her.

He couldn't do anything, though, when she was too busy staring into his blue, blue eyes to notice the ancient root in her path. It only took one misstep for her to catch it with her right foot, slide on some forest muck, fall at an awkward angle, and hear a small crack in her ankle that accompanied her thud in the dirt.

"Shit!"

"Swan, are you alright?" Killian knelt as she rolled to a seated position, mud streaked all down her front.

"I think so; just twisted my ankle a bit. Help me up?" she asked, holding her arms out.

He pulled her up as if she weighed nothing, grabbing her waist to stabilize her when she was upright. "How's that?"

"Good; let me just…" She tried to step forward, but as soon as she did, her ankle gave out and she hissed in pain. "Okay, maybe not so good."

"I've got you," he told her, as if it was the simplest fact in the world, while he wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her into a cradle.

"Killian, no—"

"You can't walk, Emma, and I'd hardly let a fair maid stumble through the forest." She rolled her eyes, but there wasn't much she could do when he was already carrying her. So she just tucked her head into his neck, enjoying the sensation of being held like this and breathing in the calming scent of the sea and the forest that always surrounded him.

Back in the meadow minutes later, he gently set her down on the greenery chaise alongside the middlemist. As careful as he could (which was probably better than most trained surgeons), he pulled off her boot and socks to look at the injured ankle, which was starting to turn a lovely shade of indigo.

Emma glanced up; in the chaos of the past however-long-it-had-been, the sun had set and the full moon cast an appropriately ethereal glow on the meadow. It seemed to wash out everything, especially her pale skin, but the middlemist were just as vibrant as ever.

"Swan, do you mind if I go ahead and heal this?"

"You can do that?"

"A simple fracture like this? Of course."

She'd never heard anyone so casual about a broken bone—well, except for herself and that one time she broke a couple fingers punching a skip. "Go right ahead."

His hand hovered over the injured joint and the same blue light she'd come to recognize as his magic glowed from his palm. Her ankle suddenly felt warm and she swore she could feel her bones stitching back together; it was the oddest sensation she'd ever felt.

"There. Good as new." He smiled at her and then gave a quick peck to the newly healed skin.

And that was when it finally hit her: she was mortal and he wasn't. He could just heal away an injury like it was nothing. O _h my god, do fae even get sick?_ What were they doing—what was he doing? What would happen when she was old and grey and he still looked like he did now, all young and hot and life-ruining? Would they even make it that far?

That was what was so unsettling about the other meadow earlier: as much as she trusted him, and as strong as her feelings for him were, there was still the very, very real chance he'd leave her someday, or vice versa. And she didn't know if she could handle that.

How had she not thought of any of this?

She didn't realize that she had a) stopped breathing or b) started crying until Killian was right in front of her, a scared look on his face. "Emma, love, what is it?"

"Killian...what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm mortal. I fall, I break, I get sick, and one day, I'll die. You won't. What are we doing?"

"Oh, Emma." He gave her a soft smile as he brushed away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "I hope to spend the rest of my days at your side, however many...or few that is."

She cocked her head at his use of "few", confused; but then she remembered something he'd told her a while ago, and was almost overcome with horror at the thought.

"No!" she exclaimed, not even thinking.

"No?" He looked hurt, and she regretted the outburst for a moment—but only a moment.

"No, you can't do that. Give up your immortality? Your magic? I...I'm not worth it, Killian."

"Look at me, Emma." He gently drew her face up so she could see the honesty and love shining in his eyes. "You are worth more than all the pirate gold in this realm or any other. I've spent nigh 200 years towards a fruitless endeavor and idleness; I'd gladly spend 50 in hardship if it's at your side."

The weight of truth behind his statement hit her. "You'd give up your immortality for me?"

"Aye."

She swayed into him, catching his lips for the umpteenth time that day (not that she was counting...it was becoming pretty hard to, anyway). Soon enough, she'd also caught his neck, and her hands were sliding down it, over his collarbones and under his shirt as their kisses increased in fervor.

This was headed into uncharted territory fast. Between breaths, she asked, "So, this whole lying with a mortal thing—were you planning on doing that sooner, or later?"

"I was thinking right now might be good," he panted back.

"Good." She immediately reaffixed her mouth to his and continued her exploration, hands skimming south through the coarse hair on his chest until they reached the buttons on his tunic and vest. "May I?" she whispered in a pant.

"As you wish." Planting kisses down his jaw and neck as she worked, she somehow managed to undo the buttons of his waistcoat and the few that weren't already done on his tunic—a ridiculously small number that she was insanely grateful for tonight. Her lips traveled over his collarbones as she slid the garments off, revealing his strong chest and toned core in the pale moonlight. (She may have sucked in a breath at the sight—the gorgeous, heavenly sight; _how is he even real?_ definitely ran through her mind.)

"My turn," he whispered when she was done gaping. He pulled her to a standing position, making sure she could balance on her freshly healed ankle before going to work. His fingers danced over the buttons of her raincoat, undoing them with more grace than she (clearly) possessed in her entire body and sliding it down her shoulders, letting it fall in the flowers.

His hands hovered at her waist for a moment before sliding under her shirt, taking it with him. His warm palms blazed a trail of fire along her skin while his intense gaze lit one within. She nearly whimpered in protest when her sight was cut off as he pulled the top over her head, but was greeted with his lips on hers as soon as he tugged it off.

His fingers danced up her back to her bra clasp, undoing it without a second's pause and without ceasing his pleasant assault on her mouth. She quickly pulled the straps of it off and threw it...somewhere; the meadow wasn't that big—she'd find it later.

Killian broke away, taking a moment to soak her in as she had done him. "You are the loveliest thing I've ever beheld, Emma."

She blushed; while it certainly wasn't her first time naked in front of a man, it was definitely the first time one had looked at her like that: like she truly was the rarest creature in this realm or the next.

"I could say the same." The hair on his chest tapered into a line that ran down his firm stomach, disappearing into those leather pants that were doing a poor job of hiding his...feelings on their present activities. She reached up to his shoulders and traced down his strong biceps and forearms, noting the freckles and scars along them. She'd ask him about them someday, but not tonight. Instead, she clasped his hands and pulled them around her waist, needing to feel him against her.

Just the friction of their chests as they made out in the meadow was enough to have her halfway gone, and Killian, too, by the feel of his growing arousal against her. Taking a moment to breathe, she let out a tiny giggle; just like when they were in the hall by her room, his wings had sprung free again.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly.

"There's nothing to apologize for. I wanted to see them. You know I love them...as much as I love you." It slipped from her lips naturally; in the past, she'd have been too scared to say that, but she knew, finally, that there was no reason to fear it now.

If the light of the moon wasn't already bright on them, Killian's grin would have blinded her. "And I love you, Emma." She barely had a chance to grin back before he pulled her in again and she swore she'd gladly drown in the sea of kisses that evidently matched his eyes. But the more they brushed and bumped against each other, the more she needed...well, more.

Further foreplay would have to wait—there'd definitely be time for that in the future. She panted out, "Killian, I need you...now."

A flick of his hand had the rest of their clothes off and in neat piles in a second, and it was only a few more until she was on her back in the middlemist with him hovering over her. His eyes—so much bluer in the moonlight and against the matching color of the gossamer at his back—raked over her as if recording every inch.

"Killian?" she asked, wondering at his hesitation. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he said with a soft smile as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "Just...making sure I remember this." She hummed; she certainly knew she would.

A moment later, they became one with a thrust and a kiss and she swore, she somehow felt rainbows, if that was a thing.

Killian must have, too. "Emma, did you feel that?" he gasped.

"It feels...amazing!"

Making love to Killian was like nothing she'd ever known, yet entirely familiar. They fit together so perfectly and wholly and were so in sync with each other's every move that she saw more than beams of light: stars and sparks filled her vision, both real and imagined (she swore there were fireflies, just like in her fantasies); the warm perfume of the middlemist mixed with Killian's comforting scent set her senses on high alert; and his touch made each and every nerve ending even more impossibly alive, as if her whole being was vibrating on a cellular level. And every time she opened her eyes, his shone back, full of love and awe and brighter than the stars in the sky.

Hell, even the wolves were howling, no doubt in response to her shouts of Killian's name.

They came together (in any sense of the word) multiple times that night, each just as soul-satisfying as the last—and each time, she swore it felt like she was coming home. She hated to think of Neal at a time like this, but was suddenly reminded of one thing he'd told her: home is a place that when you leave, you just miss it. And being separated from Killian—physically for a moment, and even the thought of more—had her missing him more than she thought possible.

Not to go all movie cliche again, but: he completed her.

And boy, did he get her to completion.

For her, it had been a truly magical experience, in every way; she hated to think that it had been anything less for him, but knowing what would happen now that he had laid (several times) with a mortal, she had to imagine there was some fallout physically.

When they finally collapsed—sated, sweat-soaked, and so in love—in the bed of flowers side by side, she asked if he felt any different.

"Aye. It's a rare occasion to take so beautiful a woman to bed; I'm on cloud nine."

"You mean you've taken a beautiful woman to bed before?" she teased (though it was pretty apparent that he was no blushing virgin).

"There may have been a pixie a while back."

She giggled; _no wonder he was so adamant about Tinkerbelle_. "But you know what I mean," she said, softer.

The moon had sank enough below the trees that they were in shadows, but she could still make out his gentle smile. "I feel fine, love. Let's see what the morning shall bring."

Too tired and happy to argue, she tucked into his side, head on his chest, and fell into the best slumber she could remember.

* * *

A gentle breeze woke Emma hours later, and all she could think was how warm she felt. The air was almost unnaturally so, but it had more to do with the arms wrapped around her and the sun beating down on her naked skin than anything meteorological.

She sighed contentedly and slowly opened her eyes. Killian was still asleep, his (ridiculously, inhumanly) long lashes lying against the apples of his cheeks and his full lips slightly parted, allowing light snores out. _I could get used to this_.

He must have sensed she was awake, because he woke not long after. "'Morning, love," he whispered, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," she hummed back. "It's my birthday."

"Is it now? I didn't get you anything."

"You got me everything." She still couldn't fathom it. "How do you feel now?"

He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow in thought, then cocked his head in slight confusion. "I feel no different. Do you?"

"Actually, yeah." She'd had some awesome sex before, but nothing that so completely rocked her to her core that she felt like a completely different person the next day. Usually, she was sore in all the right places and maybe still a bit spent; but she felt completely fresh and renewed today. If she wasn't expected back at the diner for birthday breakfast, she'd be up for another round. "But in a good way."

He smirked. "Good. I'd feared for my skills there a moment."

"Trust me. You're fantastic."

His smile turned soft. "Happy Birthday, Emma. I love you."

"I love you, too."

He reached up to brush a curl behind her ear and leaned in to give her a kiss, but stopped halfway.

"Hey, don't leave me hangin'," she protested, but then she saw the concerned look on his face and her heart dropped to her stomach. "Killian, what is it?"

He gulped. "Your ear…"

"What?" She immediately wanted to cover them with her hands, suddenly super self-conscious of them. _It's not like they're anything special but they're not horrific_. "What about my ears?"

"They weren't...pointed last night, were they?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the last chapter!!! It's been so fun writing this, so thank you so much for reading and for all your reviews!!

_"Killian, what is it?"_

_He gulped. "Your ears…They weren't...pointed last night, were they?"_

She was taken aback. "Uh, no." Her ears were perfectly round, thank you very much. To verify that, she reached up to trace the shell of her lobes.

_What the hell?_ Where normally they would curve back down, they made a point, the same as Killian's. She sat up as panic set in and started tracing her birthmark with her thumb, hoping it would calm her. _How do my ears just randomly change shape?_

He followed her up shortly, still with a confused look on his face. "Don't freak out…" _Well, that's not a good way to keep me calm._ "...But...you have wings, now, too."

"What?!" She tried to turn around to look, but that of course was fruitless. Gently, he reached behind her, and she felt a tug on her shoulder blade that accompanied the sight of him with a wing in hand (a gorgeous wing, at least: a dappled green with gold highlights, patterned and shaped similarly to a monarch butterfly). If she needed any more confirmation, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her new appendage, and they fluttered in reaction to her shock. "Do you still have yours?" He answered with a few beats of his own.

She was speechless. _What the hell is going on?_ was her only thought, and she was pretty sure she'd rub her birthmark clean off.

He moved to kneel in front of her. "Emma, we'll figure this out," he said quietly as he took both her hands. "There has to be some reason why it worked in reverse. Is it such a bad thing though?"

She looked at his face, and the happy crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He had a point. "No, I guess not; it's just...a _lot_ to take in."

"I imagine." His thumbs traced the back of her hands in a soothing pattern, before moving inside her wrists and pulling them to his mouth to place kisses there. He stilled a moment when looking at the left one.

"Emma, what's this?"

"My birthmark?" He was studying it closely. "I've had it my whole life."

"Impossible…" he breathed, staring at it.

"What is?" She didn't know if she was more curious or concerned by his attention to it.

He looked her dead in the eye. "Emma, this is the lyon flower—the symbol of one of the fae royal families."

"...What?" She was really getting tired of saying that this morning, but apparently it was the word of the day.

"Oh, that must be why you hang out with werewolves."

"WHAT." ( _Last time, I swear._ )

"Granny and Ruby. You didn't know?"

"No! Why would I know that? I found out fae were real a week ago and now you're telling me werewolves are, too? How did you even know?"

"I told you: non-humans can recognize each other."

She thought back to his and Granny's initial reaction to each other at the diner; it suddenly made sense. "Wait, that wasn't some kind of turf war with Granny, was it? Do I have to worry about her actually eating you? Versus, you know, metaphorically eating you up because she thinks you're physically delicious?" (Panic always brought out the word vomit.)

He chuckled. "No. We may not all be friends, but we're allies. But fae royalty in particular is close with certain wolf clans. Have been for centuries."

No wonder she felt so at ease around Killian—she'd been around supposedly mythological creatures her whole life and never knew it. Granny's monthly "girls retreats" made a lot more sense now.

But...fae royalty? "So...are you saying I might be descended from some royal family?"

"It's a possibility. I got the feeling your Granny knows more than she's letting on. We should have a chat with her; what do you say?"

Emma could only nod and let him help her up to standing. In a daze, she gathered her clothes up and dressed as she attempted to process everything Killian was telling her. It all sounded unbelievable, but given all the other crazy stuff she'd seen, her limits of belief were being continuously stretched.

So was her shirt, apparently; even flexible cotton couldn't accommodate wings. "So, um, how do I put these things away?"

He chuckled at her predicament, watching her with her shirt stuck around her neck. "Just tell them to hide."

She closed her eyes and shouted it in her head. But when she looked again, they were still there. "Any other suggestions?"

"I've always visualised folding them away."

She tried that, imagining the beautiful gossamer folding like origami to her skin. This time when she checked, they were nowhere to be seen, but she could feel them just under her shoulder blades, like an itch that could only be scratched when they were freed. It wasn't exactly comfortable, and while she figured she'd get used to it, she had a whole new level of sympathy for Killian.

Minutes later, they were fully clothed (he back in that modern look she'd never tire of— _seriously, high five to whoever told him about skinny jeans_ ) and on their way out. She noticed the distinct lack of magic in the surrounding forest the same as always, but now felt somehow more in tune with the rest of the woods and the subtle power there. It was like the trees parted for her, too, and not just because Killian asked them.

Outside the diner, she was more nervous than she'd been in years; not since she was a teenager in front of the judge. But this time—as she was reminded, with a squeeze of the hand in hers—she wasn't alone.

"You can do this, love." She nodded, took a breath, and opened the door.

* * *

The only person she saw in the diner was Graham, seated at the counter; immediately, some new sense went off, and there was something different about him that she'd never noticed before—yet a not entirely unfamiliar vibe.

She whispered to Killian, "Is he a…"

"Werewolf," he murmured back with a nod.

"Yup," Graham confirmed, not even looking up from his coffee but clearly not needing any extra focus to pick up even their hushed voices. _No wonder Ruby and I never got away with anything as kids; how could we if Granny has hearing like that?_ He glanced over to them and, with a smirk, said, "Glad you finally did it."

Both Emma and Killian shifted uncomfortably where they stood, even though they threw shy smiles at each other; yeah, they did "it," but it wasn't like the whole world needed to know.

Any awkward tension was broken a second later when Ruby barged out of the back, took one look at Emma, gave a yell that was probably closer to a howl, and then nearly leapt over the counter to hug her. While caught in said embrace, Emma's sixth sense went off again, but it wasn't something she hadn't felt before; she had always just assumed she was in tune enough with her foster sister to know when she was near and not that it was some preternatural sense.

"I bet you have a lot of questions." Granny's voice broke up their hug.

"Uh, yeah." That was an understatement.

"Well, grab a booth. I'll explain everything over breakfast. And Happy Birthday, Emma."

She thanked Granny and took Killian to the big corner booth, having a feeling that this would be a discussion everyone wanted to hear. Moments later, Granny came back with a heap of Emma's favorite chocolate chip pancakes and a steaming mug of hot cocoa—the largest she'd ever seen (and she was definitely going to need it). Ruby followed with pancakes for everyone else, and they all tucked into the booth. Emma scooched closer to Killian, hip to hip, needing to feel his presence. She took a big gulp of hot chocolate, swallowed, and then turned to Granny. "So why did I go to sleep human and wake up fae?"

"Well, you didn't even go to sleep a human."

She nearly did a double take. "I didn't?"

"You've never been one."

Emma thumbed her birthmark again before setting her wrist on the table and tugging back her sleeve so it was visible to all. "Killian told me this is a symbol of fae royalty. Does that...mean something?"

"Smart boy," Granny nodded at Killian. "Yes. You, my dear," she said, placing her hand over Emma's, "are the lost princess of the fae realm of Misthaven."

Nothing came from Emma's lie detector. Deep down, she knew it was absolutely true—it had to be. And somewhere inside, it felt like some empty spot inside her heart—the part where her family should be—was starting to fill up.

To her surprise, Killian sucked in a breath next to her. "What is it?" she asked, once the revelation sunk in.

"I...I'm from Misthaven."

"Oh, shit, you're not my cousin, are you?"

He shook his head with a chuckle. "No; my family isn't royal, and unless Liam married in, we never would be."

Granny snorted. "Well, you are now."

Emma tilted her head in confusion. "What does that mean?"

Sighing, Granny pointed at Emma's pancakes. "You may as well eat up; this is gonna take a while."

Emma and the rest obliged as Granny began her story:

"Many years ago, I was a friend of Queen Ava of Misthaven, and my daughter Anita was close with the princess, Snow White. Eventually, the girls grew up, and Anita ran off to another pack while Snow stayed in Misthaven, assuming the crown when Ava died. A bit later, Snow married David, who was a commoner but had helped her in a moment of need, and they fell in love.

"Somewhere in the farther reaches of the kingdom, the Dark Fae Queen Regina had set her sights on the throne, and decided that Snow—her niece—would be the one she took it from. But the throne was protected by the deepest fae magic, ensuring that only the purest hearts of the family line could assume it. For Regina to have any claim to it, she would need the blackest of magic. A wizard helped her with that, though, and provided her a curse that she enacted, casting the entire realm into a deep slumber.

"But there was a loophole in the curse in the form of a prophecy, and a pixie on the High Court of the Enchanted Forest found out and informed the royal couple: their child would be the one to break it on the eve of her 28th birthday, when she found her one true love. The King and Queen hated to give up their daughter, but when she was born, they marked her with their kiss and then entrusted her to me with the plan that I would raise and guide her until the day she was to break the curse.

"Some of the fae that were more practiced in magic created a spell that would disguise the princess as a human until then and take us—the baby, myself, and Ruby, who had come into my care after her mother died—to the human realm. We were supposed to live here, raise you, and help you find the one would help you break the curse, prophesied to be another cast-out from the realm.

"But the Dark Fae Queen found out, and tampered with the spell, which separated you from us. That's why you ended up in the States and why it took so long for us to find you. But we did, and, well, now we're here. And I believe you just broke a curse."

Emma was completely speechless. Curses, spells, wizards, evil, true love? It was truly the stuff of a storybook and yet, apparently, it was her life. She couldn't deny that it made sense, but it was a little overwhelming.

Somewhere, she had parents—who hadn't wanted to give her up.

She had a kingdom, a home, waiting for her.

And, apparently, she'd found her one true love. She didn't know which was going to burst first from all this: her head of her heart. _This must have been how Harry felt when Hagrid found him on his birthday._

At some point during the explanation, she had grabbed Killian's hand; his squeeze let her know he was still there and pulled her from her reeling thoughts.

"Emma, are you alright?" he asked quietly.

She swallowed, thinking, and realized that—ultimately—she was. "I need to absorb this but...yeah," she concluded with a slow smile.

"You're not mad we kept it from you?" Ruby asked, seemingly taken aback by Emma's calm reaction.

"I wouldn't have believed it if you'd told me. I am curious how you've hidden being a wolf all this time, though."

"Magic cloak. Granny brought it from home and made me use it in Boston. Can you imagine the havoc I'd have wreaked?"

"Oh God. Especially when the Sox won the Series." They shared a laugh, but Emma did have another question. "So is that why you moved back here? To get me to break the curse?"

"In part," Granny answered. "It's also much easier to be a wolf here, and I wanted Ruby to experience that. Hell, I missed it."

Once the floodgates were open, all the questions came. "So all those stories you told us growing up...those were all true?"

"Every one."

"Even the one about the wolf girl who ate the guy who attacked her?"

"Not my finest moment, but yes."

"What did you mean by 'marked with a kiss'?"

Granny tapped on Emma's wrist. "That's no normal birthmark. Your parents put that there so they'd always be close to you. And it was damn handy in making sure we got the right kid when we found you."

No wonder it had always brought Emma comfort; she smiled at the mental image of her parents—whatever they looked like—kissing a tiny infant wrist.

One more thing was really bugging her: "So if I was supposed to find my true love, another fae, then why did you warn me against the woods and the gancanagh?"

"Because I knew you wouldn't listen." Emma snorted; _ain't that the truth._

A silence settled over the table as all these revelations soaked in. "So...now what?" Emma wondered aloud.

"Right now, you finish those pancakes. Then," Granny continued with a smile, "we talk about taking you home."

_Home_. That was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. As much as she felt at home with Killian, or Granny and Ruby, she'd never even considered having more than that. She was already feeling more blessed than she deserved; she'd need a bit to calm down before she was ready for more.

She glanced at Killian; he had the same concern written in the furrow of his brow. After so long on his own, she could only imagine the thoughts running through his head right now.

"Is it okay if we hold off a bit on the 'going home' thing? I'm kind of at maximum capacity right now."

"Of course, girl. We'll be here when you're ready." Granny gave her a comforting pat on the hand before sliding out of the booth so she and Ruby could attend to the customers who had trickled in.

Reluctantly, she let go of Killian's hand so she could eat, giving him a small smile before starting back on her pancakes.

They ate in silence for a few moments, but he still seemed on edge; the tension was evident in the hunch of his shoulders. Something was bugging him, but she didn't want to discuss it here. Nudging him with her elbow, she quietly asked, "Hey, can we go to the meadow after this?"

"Of course, love," he softly replied with a halfhearted smile. It was going to bug her until they talked, so she scarfed down the rest of her (delicious) birthday breakfast and grabbed a couple sack lunches while he politely finished his meal. She had to laugh a bit at that; despite their similarities, they were quite opposite when it came to manners—how the universe had seen fit to pair them was still a bit of a mystery, but she wasn't going to complain.

* * *

She gave her goodbyes to Granny, saying they'd be back later, and they returned to the forest. She now had no trouble navigating whatever space-time continuum led them to the meadow, and she was able to enter without his lead this time. The closer they got, the more she could feel her wings itching under her skin; it was unexpectedly refreshing to free them once they were within the meadow's magical barrier.

He gave a warm smile at the sight, but she could still see that something was plaguing him. "So are you going to tell me what's wrong now?"

His smile shifted from genuine to put-on. "Nothing is wrong," he lied, taking a few steps to close the distance between them and rest his hands on her hips. She responded with raised eyebrows, crossed arms, and a look that told him she knew he was holding back; he sighed hung his head. "It's...while I'm more than happy to hear that I'm your one true love...I don't want you to feel any obligation to stay with me due to destiny."

She was nearly knocked breathless and faltered backwards; her wings were involuntarily fluttering to match her suddenly panicked heartbeat. _Does he really not want to stay together now?_ "Are...are you trying to break up with me?"

"Oh heavens no, Swan—never. But given my past, and the fact that you're a princess…"

"Killian, I have to stop you right there." She couldn't believe he was doubting this, but nearly gave a sigh of relief that he wasn't trying to end things. Placing a hand on his chest, she continued. "I chose you before I knew any of that, and I'd choose you again in a heartbeat. From the sounds of it, that is what broke the curse—I loved you before, and I still love you."

His cheeks flushed pink and he looked at her through his thick lashes. "I love you, too, Emma."

"Good." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Because I don't know one damn thing about the fae realm, and I'll need someone there to show me around."

"You're sure about going there?" It sounded like he had fears about that, too, based on the tone of his voice, but he'd still managed to see her own.

"No, not completely. But I have to at least give it a shot, right?" That was really as far as she'd gotten. She needed to at least try to meet her parents.

"Whatever you want, Emma. I'm just...worried I won't be able to follow you in."

She scoffed a bit. "If what Granny says is true, then I'm a princess; you shouldn't have any trouble getting in with me, right?"

"And if it still doesn't work?" She saw the same fear in his eyes she felt just yesterday when he was the one attempting to pass through.

"Then I'll find my parents, or whoever, tell them about the amazing guy I met, bite my thumb at their rules, and come right back to you."

He smiled at her own version of his words, visibly relaxing, and she rose up on her toes to give him a quick kiss.

"So, now that that's settled, how about you tell me how these wings work?"

They both giggled a bit. "Just think happy thoughts, love."

"Really? I thought that was how pixie dust worked."

"Aye, it is," he said with a laugh. "But there's some truth to it: the more your heart races, the faster your wings beat, I'm sure you've noticed. So I suppose I just need to get your heart racing," he instructed, his voice seductively lowering.

She closed her eyes as he pulled her tight to him and began placing kisses on her neck; the softness of his lips paired with the scratch of his scruff on her sensitive skin had her going in no time, and she could feel the spike in her heart rate matched by her wings.

She was getting so lost in his ministrations that she hardly noticed what else was going on until his soft chuckle signified that he was no longer kissing her. She moaned in protest but was only met with his whisper. "Open your eyes."

She did, looking up to meet his, but was only met with blue sky and sunshine. Glancing down, she saw Killian a foot or so below where he normally should be, smiling. His hands were still on her hips, but then he let go and stepped back and she could see that her feet were definitely not on the ground anymore.

She shrieked and fell on her butt. "Ow."

He laughed and helped her up. "Not bad for your first time."

She grumbled at him a bit—"Yeah, well, not all of us were flying before we could walk"—but once she was back upright, she realized: _I was FLYING._

She was determined to do it on her own this time. Okay, happy thoughts, Emma. She focused on hot chocolate with cocoa, the way the meadow smelled, sunrise on the ocean, but she inevitably kept coming back to Killian: how she'd managed to find this amazing man to love, and who loved her in return (and oh man, did he love her). It was like in the Grinch: she swore she felt her heart swelling and beating with love for him, and when she dared to open her eyes again, she was even higher off the ground.

"Fantastic, Swan! I knew you could do it!" Killian was beaming up at her, pride and love shining in his eyes. She was probably blushing but she didn't really care. "Go on; try it out!" he yelled at her, gesturing around the meadow.

_Oh yeah, moving. That's the whole point of flying, right?_ Floating was one thing, but this would be something else. She leaned forward a bit from her perch in the sky, and it worked: she nudged forward. So she leaned farther forward, and then farther, until she was basically horizontal and soaring around the meadow, small though it may be. She instinctively banked before she hit the trees and continued around. It was an incredible feeling: she'd never been much of a thrill-seeker, but she'd enjoyed her fair share of roller coasters growing up. This put them all to shame—it was exhilarating, even on this small scale.

In the middle was Killian, still grinning at her in awe. She tried to make her circle smaller and move toward him, but then she realized that she had no idea how to come down. _Shit shit shit._ So instead of gracefully landing on two feet in front of him, it was more of a graceless football tackle.

He hit the ground with an "uf!", though whether that was from impact or her weight on top of him, she wasn't sure.

"I'm so sorry, Killian! Are you okay?" She quickly sat up on her knees, pulling him up with her.

"I'm fine, love," he breathed as she checked him over for bruises or anything broken, making sure his wings were still as intact as they had been pre-collision. "I promise, I'm fine."

She looked back in his eyes and saw that he was more amused than anything, then sighed in relief as she sat back in his lap. She wrapped her arms below his and dug her face into his neck; she knew she couldn't hurt him as a human, but the thought that she might have as fae had freaked her out for a moment.

"Do you want to know what my happy thought was just then?" she murmured.

He hummed in question.

"You," she stayed matter-of-factly, placing a kiss on his neck. In response, his arms wrapped tight around her waist and she could feel his breath on her own neck.

"You'd be mine, too, Emma."

They just sat there a minute, breathing in each other and the moment, fingers gently tracing the other's back and wings flapping contentedly.

Well, wing for Killian. Her fingers gently traced his mangled left one, all its odd angles and edges feeling so rough in comparison to the cool strength of the other.

She remembered how easily he fixed her ankle last night; _maybe I can repay the favor._

"Can I heal your wing?"

He stiffened at her request, sitting up straighter. Then he gently pulled her up so he could look at her; he was smiling softly. "Oh, Swan; it means more than you'd know that you want to, but I'm afraid you can't."

"Why not?" Should have known there'd be some rule against it.

"The wizard who hurt me used a magic blade. Not much can physically harm a fae, but certain enchanted objects can, and he had one."

"What a bastard."

"Aye."

She couldn't imagine not sharing the experience of flying with him at least once. And got an idea. "Come on," she told him as she stood; now it was her turn to pull him up.

"Where are we going?" he asked, somewhere between amused and confused.

"You'll see," she teased with a smile, folding her wings away as she led him out of the meadow.

* * *

Quickly, she brought him to his cliff, and assessed the bit of coast below them and the ocean ahead. _Perfect_.

It was probably a little silly, but she was feeling a bit invincible today.

"What are we doing here, Swan?"

"You told me you always wanted to fly on the ocean, right?"

"Yes..." he answered, cocking his head as he tried to figure out what she was up to.

"Let's give it a shot." She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"You sure? It's far more likely that we end up in the waves than over them."

"Then I guess we'll have to dress for the occasion." She closed her eyes, concentrating, and they were briefly covered in green smoke—her magic. When it cleared, they were dressed for the water: she wore a plain red bikini that made his eyes go wide as he took it in; he was in blue plaid swim trunks hung low on his hips, showing off his muscled chest and arms.

"I have to admit, I quite like your idea of swimwear."

"Thought you might. Now, do you trust me?" she asked as she stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Of course." He had to look at her over his shoulder.

She freed her wings and hopped up on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Okay then. I need you to run off that cliff."

"Are you mad?" he exclaimed.

"You said you trusted me," she teased back with a chuckle. "What's the worst that could happen?"

She must have made enough of a point because he sighed, hung his head, then took a step back before sprinting to the edge.

Breathing him in and feeling his muscles move beneath her was more than enough to get her pulse (and wings) going, so when the ground gave way to air, she was soaring.

Correction: they were soaring. She held tight onto Killian as they caught a breeze and glided along it, flying out over the ocean. It was probably more of a guided descent, but Killian's whooping at the air whipping past them was all the same.

Gravity was catching up to them, she could tell, so she held her wings still as she banked to bring them a little closer to land—they'd gone out much farther than expected, and thankfully no one had seen them.

"Hold on," she whispered when they neared the surface and tilted so they'd enter the water shoulder-first. The cold ocean was a shock compared to the relatively warm air, and she grabbed tight to Killian while holding her breath.

Thankfully, he quickly kicked up, swimming easily to the surface despite the way she was wrapped around him like a koala. They broke through with a gasp, and he turned in her hold to look at her.

They were both still catching their breaths, so words wouldn't come, but she could see the exhilaration written in the sparkle of his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks as he grinned. "That was bloody amazing, Swan," he gasped. " _You're_ bloody amazing."

She blushed. "I just had to try."

"And I'm glad you did. I haven't flown in so long; thank you."

"Well, it wasn't flying so much as falling...with style. But you are more than welcome."

She pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, which here seemed to match the sea in both color and depths more than usual. His hands were hot on her waist in contrast to the cold water, the same as the heat in his gaze, and the fact that she'd gone even this long without kissing him was unfathomable to her.

So she promptly rectified that, pulling him to her by his neck, chests and mouths colliding simultaneously. Warm tongues and cool lips met hastily and hungrily while they tread water and Emma was starting to understand the mermaid fantasy (and wondering just how many more she might live with Killian—as if her entire life wasn't already one).

They only broke apart when Emma's lips began chattering. "Wait, fae still get cold?"

"'Fraid so," he said, chuckling through his own shivers. "Come on, let's warm you up."

"I like the sound of that," she joked as they swam back to the coast.

Rather than bringing their clothes back, Killian conjured a blanket and wrapped it around both their shoulders, keeping them close as they made their way up the path in the cliff side. She was sure they looked like any cheesy, so-in-love couple as they walked side by side, but she absolutely did not care.

(That and she was more than enjoying the view of his bare chest, his hair plastered to it, and the way he flinched whenever her thumb hit a certain spot on his side. Who knew her beautiful fae was ticklish?)

The sun was beginning its descent once they got back to the meadow and despite the lunch she packed (and forgot about), they decided to head back to Granny's for the night, and quickly dressed before heading back.

Granny raised an eyebrow at their wet appearance but made no comments; just sat them down with dinner and regaled them with more tales of her life—some Emma had heard, some she hadn't.

Eventually, Granny started to talk about Emma's parents. Their love story was another that Emma had grown up with, but hadn't thought of as more than a fairy tale:

_Once upon a time, a beautiful princess had been cast out by her jealous aunt. Forced to wander the woods and hills alone, she got very good at fending for—and defending—herself. She survived quite well on her own until she ran afoul of a shepherd boy while stealing some eggs. He demanded payment; she told him to shove it. But he was insistent, and suggested a kiss as payment. Exasperated, she agreed; but then she found that his were lips she always wished to kiss. They fell in love, and together took back her kingdom, living happily ever after._

The happily ever after part clearly was a work in progress, but Emma had always loved the story of the badass princess made stronger by love.

As she heard Granny recount their other adventures—fighting trolls, battling a medusa, and tales of True Love's Kiss—Emma felt a pit of doubt grow in her stomach: what would they think of her? An ex-con who had been too jaded to love until a few days ago? Who was skeptical of so much?

This was part of why she'd had so few personal relationships to begin with: fewer people could let you down, and you could let fewer people down. (Even though it had been years, those first few foster homes she could remember had left their mark.)

She continued to smile, nod, and laugh at Granny's stories, but it was becoming harder to do so as the night went on.

Killian was living up to his title of fairy godpirate; he must have picked up on her crisis of self doubt, because it wasn't long before he gave an exaggerated yawn, which she inevitably echoed ( _curse you, science!_ ). "I believe it's been a long day and we should turn in. Allow me to escort you back to your room, Emma?"

(It would never cease to amuse her how much he turned on the charm in front of Granny.)

He hesitated when they got back to her room; she could tell he wanted an invitation but didn't want to seem too forward by requesting one and was awkwardly scratching behind his ear. "Come on," she said, chuckling as she unlocked the door and beckoned him in.

She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it on the room's armchair while he closed and locked the door behind him. And of course, he didn't wait a moment to begin his interrogation. "My turn to ask, Swan: what's bothering you?"

She swallowed, knowing there was no chance of lying it away. "What if I'm not enough for my parents?"

"Oh, Emma," he gushed, stepping forward to take her hands. "Weren't you listening to Granny's story? They sent you away because they loved you so much."

"But that was when I was a baby. What about now? Who would want a broken criminal of a daughter?" She could feel tears starting to fall as the fear of rejection, which she thought was long-buried, came back to the forefront.

"Oh, my love." He pulled her into his embraced and brushed her tears away with a thumb. "First off, let your parents make their assumptions before you make them for them. And second, I have a feeling they'll be impressed by the strong, fierce, beautiful woman you grew into."

She smiled through her tears (well, tried to), and leaned into him, resting her head on his chest. "I guess I am a bit nervous about going back."

"I know. I am, too."

"You're not happy to?"

"I am, but I have similar concerns. I haven't seen my brother in years; I can only imagine what he'd have to say about my actions since then. But," he continued, nudging her chin from his shoulder to look at her, "there's no way of knowing now and therefore little sense in worrying."

She nodded. She often forgot how many more years he'd lived than her, but it showed in moments of wisdom like this. She hugged him again, partly to show gratitude and partly just to be close.

After a moment, he shifted his weight. "I suppose I, ah, should be going," he murmured in her ear.

"Stay," she whispered back, though her tone was more command than request.

"As you wish."

It wasn't long before they were kissing, and then she was pushing off his jacket as he backed her toward the bed. When her knees hit the mattress, she fell back and pulled him down with her by his collar. She would have been content to resume their previous activities, but he had rolled off to her side and was suddenly awe struck by...something.

"Killian, what is it?"

"What's in this mattress?"

"Springs…" It wasn't even that fantastic a mattress, but she suddenly realized: he slept in a meadow; of COURSE he'd never felt a spring mattress.

Adorably, he shifted his weight around, rolling side-to-side and bouncing up and down. He gave a childlike grin at her over his new discovery. "This is incredible!"

She gently laughed at his glee. "Usually when the springs are creaking like that, it's because other stuff is going on."

"Other stuff?"

"I think you know what I mean."

(Oh, he definitely did.)

Later, spent and sated (and after she was pretty sure she heard the blunt end of a broomstick from the floor below), she was tucked into his arms and fading fast. The only thing keeping her awake was his open eyes, still shining a pale blue even in the minimum moonlight that came through the curtain.

"You okay there?"

"Aye; this is just the first time I've gone to bed without being able to see the stars."

"Oh. Well, then." She closed her eyes and focused, imagining the clear, starry sky from the other night. A moment later, his sharp intake of air told her it had worked: when she opened her eyes back up, the ceiling was dotted with tiny balls of light that mimicked the constellations. "How's that?"

"It's beautiful, love; just like you." His eyes were wide and just as starry in the gentle glow emitted from the "sky".

She hummed in contentment, and was glad it wasn't bright enough for him to see the blush on the pointed tips of her ears. "Good night, Killian. I love you."

"I love you too, Emma."

* * *

They both ended up waking before dawn, likely due to nerves despite the previous evening's more arduous activities. Ruby and Granny hadn't even woken yet, so they dressed, snuck down to the kitchen, and hoped no one would notice the bagels she'd stolen, or the missing thermoses filled with hot chocolate with cinnamon.

She and Killian made their way to the cliff, taking their time. The forest looked especially magical in the faint pre-dawn light, each dew drop reflecting it as if illuminated from within. When she hit a low branch with her shoulder, she swore the little droplets danced their way down to the forest floor.

Killian laid a blanket down on the cliff's edge, and they sat in comfortable silence, sipping on cocoa and watching the sun slowly paint the sky with it's lazy, hazy rainbow of colors before it would go back to hide behind Ireland's ever-present clouds.

As they watched the horizon and listened to the sea crash on the rocks below, she took a moment to observe him. He looked so at peace and in his element, with his wing gently flicking too and fro. But he must have realized she was staring, because a moment later, his eyes—so much paler in the morning light—were on her.

"What are you thinking, love?"

"Just committing this moment to memory."

"And why is that?"

"Because no matter what happens today, everything will change."

He wrapped an arm around her, careful of her wings. "How so?"

"Well, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, I'm supposed to get on a plane and fly across the ocean."

He nodded. "Or…?"

"Or we walk through that arch of trees back to the Enchanted Forest."

"There's nothing saying you have to do either of those."

"I know." She reached across his lap for his free hand. "But I realized something last night."

The arch of his eyebrow asked the question for him.

"Home isn't another realm or city. It's right here, next to you."

He gave another one of those huge grins she was seeing more and more—the kind that cut deep dimples in his cheeks and wrinkled the corner of his eyes—before gently kissing her temple. Her wings picked up speed; even these small gestures of affection warmed her to no end.

"But," she continued, "I do want to go to the fae realm."

"Okay, Swan."

"You sure that's okay?"

"Like I said: I'll follow you to the ends of the earth." (That called for a full kiss, on the lips.) "When did you want to go?"

"Today's as good a day as any, right?"

"Right you are."

The sun was almost completely risen when they left, heading back to Granny's for breakfast and to tell the old werewolf her decision. Granny insisted on making a big meal, as grand as yesterday's, in celebration; Emma had forgotten that this would be a homecoming of sorts for her, too. Even Ruby was bouncing in excitement.

She and Killian stayed connected shoulder to hip to knee as they ate their meal—waffles, to his delight—and after she grabbed a few important things from her room—mainly, the blanket she was found in as a baby, which she never traveled without—they met Granny and Ruby in the foyer.

Granny froze when she saw the blanket hanging out of Emma's bag. "You still have that?"

"Of course." Emma was suddenly self conscious of it, but also surprised—Granny knew she'd had it her whole life.

The older woman wiped a tear away. "I guess I can finally tell you that I'm the one who made it for you."

Emma couldn't help but give Granny a bear hug, and even that wasn't reaction enough for the woman who had done so much for her her whole life, apparently since even before she was born. "Thank you so much. For everything."

Granny hugged her back, but then apparently remembered her reputation and pulled back, sniffing and drying her eyes. "You ready then?"

Grabbing Killian's hand with a squeeze, Emma smiled and replied in the affirmative. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Alright, let's go. I think Mr. Not-Jones should lead; you know where to go."

"As you wish, milady."

Granny flipped the sign on the door to "CLOSED" and locked up, and then they were off. Along the way, Emma noticed that some of the trees in the forest—the old, large ones that never moved—had deep, claw-like gouges that were similar in size to the massive paw prints she was seeing on the ground all around.

"Hey, Rubes: friends of yours?" Emma joked.

"Oh, yeah, that was me and Graham. Full moon and all." In typical Ruby fashion, she was completely nonchalant about her nightly activities.

Emma recalled the howling from the other night. "Oh my God, I heard you!"

"Yeah, and I heard you. Just like college!"

Emma could only laugh; despite everything that had changed in the last two days, it was nice to see that some things never would.

It wasn't long before they reached the meadow. It looked the same as it did the last time they were there, but Emma could feel that magical thrum even more. She freed her wings with a slight sigh, still not used to the itch whenever they were covered. But she had no reason to keep them under wraps here.

Granny gasped. "Oh, Emma...they look just like your mother's."

"Really?" She'd always wondered which of her parents she got her eyes or hair from; it hadn't occurred to her that her wings might be governed by genetics, too.

"Yeah. You actually look a lot like her, darling; you'll see," Granny commented with a pat on the shoulder.

Slowly, the group approached the tree arch. Emma was still holding tight to Killian, who had also let out his wings (much to Ruby's pleasure). He was looking at her, smiling, but cautious.

"You really sure about this?"

"Definitely," she said confidently, grabbing his hand with a squeeze. "You?"

"Definitely."

"Okay. Let's do this."

She smiled as she rose up on her tiptoes, placed a chaste kiss on the lips of her one true love, glanced back at the women who raised her, and then they stepped forward, together, through the threshold to where they belonged.

(And, like in every good fairy tale, they lived happily ever after.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’d been tossing around the idea for an epilogue ever since I finished the main story, and I had a couple drafted but kind of left them alone for a while. Well, everyone yelled at the way it ended, and then @iamaliteraltrashbin yelled some more, and then @cocohook38 made a request, and how can I deny them? Sooo here’s the actual ending! 
> 
> Thanks mucho to my amazing friends for looking this over: MFAMB Kjb2609 for making sure it all makes sense and the Abed to my Troy shipsxahoy for making sure it had squee moments. 
> 
> And also, thank you so much to those who nominated it in the @csfanficawards!!! I’m so honored! There are a lot of amazing stories in that category (MC under 50k) and just. wow. thank you!

_ 3 years later _

Emma woke to the sun streaming through gauzy blinds, a warm breeze rustling them. She shifted on the plush mattress in their room at the palace—once Killian had discovered the wonders of memory foam, he’d insisted on it, falling even more in love with it than he had that old spring mattress back at Granny’s.

Life in the fae realm really wasn’t much different than it had been in the “Muggle” world, as she’d taken to calling it. They still had all the modern amenities she’d grown up with (plumbing, electricity, even TV), just with the added bonus of magic everywhere. In some ways, she wasn’t sure she’d ever adjust to that; but in others, it was like she’d always been there. It was actually Killian who’d had more to acclimate to over the past few years, but even he fit back into fae society in no time at all.

She shifted under the covers, scooting over a bit to wrap herself deep in Killian’s embrace, but was only met with cool sheets where there should have been a warm body.

_ Oh. Right. That. _

One thing that seemed to transcend realms, though: the bride and groom never shared a bed the night before their wedding.

Just another reason she was anxious to get the whole thing over with. A wedding seemed like a technicality at this point—what else were you going to do with your True Love other than spend the rest of your (unreasonably long) life together? But her mother had insisted, and as she learned over the past three years, it was usually a good idea to let her do these things; she’d missed out on enough of Emma’s life.

(And, though sometimes loathe to admit it, Emma really had missed out on having doting, sometimes overbearing parents...and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.)

It was actually three years to the day that Emma crossed the threshold to the fae realm, hand in hand with Killian. Waiting for her across the barrier were a pair of fae: a blond man with sky blue wings, and a dark-haired woman with eyes and wings that matched Emma's. She knew right away they were her parents—if the looks weren’t enough, the way her heart somehow felt fuller was. (Killian later explained to her, with a somber smile, that it was another part of fae magic.)

Even so, Emma had found herself surprisingly bashful in front of them—suddenly a shy little girl again—but when they wrapped her in their warm embrace and whispered their assurances of how much they loved her, and how they knew she'd find them, she felt that last bit of that lost girl melt away.

Of course, things got a little bit awkward when it came time to introduce Killian.  _ Yes, you missed the first 28 years of my life and you get me back because I boned my boyfriend-slash-True Love _ . Great first impression, she was sure, given the narrowed eyes her father was already throwing Killian’s way.

Killian, as was his nature, just stared at her, grinning (as did Ruby and Granny). She quietly gave the introduction, bracing for some kind of impact. To her surprise, it was literal: Snow White all but launched herself at Killian, hugging and thanking him for helping Emma come back. She had to stifle a laugh at the shocked look on Killian’s face, but quickly, the tips of his pointed ears were red and he was hugging back. It had been a long time since he had known a mother’s love, too, after all. (Her father politely shook Killian’s hand, and she noticed that his free hand never left the pommel of his sword...that should have been a sign right there.)

The following weeks were a blur: her parents insisted she move into these very quarters in the palace, with Killian “safely,” according to Charming—whose real name was David, apparently—on the other side of the castle. (Yeah, she definitely perfected flying over to his room and sneaking back to hers before dawn.)

Not long after, she was formally crowned as Princess Emma of Misthaven, in a full ceremony in front of the entire kingdom and dignitaries from nearby lands—a ceremony that also taught her the scale on which her mother tended to plan events. Emma had made a point at the beginning of wedding planning to insist on keeping it small, because never again did she want to have to fly up, shoot a flaming arrow into a hoop, and worry about thousands of people looking up her skirt.

(“Can’t I just fly it to the ring?” she wondered/complained often, and loud. “It’s tradition, Emma; I did it, too.” That was typically enough for Emma to lose an argument.)

One good thing came of her mother’s overzealous event planning, though: Killian was reunited with Liam. As it turned out, his brother had indeed married into royalty: the queen, Elsa, of Arendelle, a kingdom to the north of Misthaven. Then it was Emma’s turn to watch a warm reunion, letting the happy tears fall at seeing the rest of Killian’s heart fill, too. Soon, it was like the last 200 years hadn’t even happened—the brothers became as close as ever, despite the distance between them. Thank goodness the fae realm had its own version of Skype, and the two conversed via magic mirror almost constantly. (Emma wanted to laugh until she remembered: her mother was literally Snow White.)

To be fair, though, Elsa had quickly become one of Emma’s best friends. The queen may have seemed icy and demure at times, as reflected quite literally in her crystal blue wings,but there was a fierce spark in her that matched Emma’s and Ruby’s, and the three had become as inseparable as was possible when you lived in three countries across two realms. So again, thank goodness for magic mirrors.

That distance was noticeably shorter today, though—Liam and Elsa were here for the wedding, both staying in the room adjacent to Killian’s old quarters. It was actually the first time he’d stayed there by himself in a couple years, probably; shortly after the coronation, he’d sought her parents (mainly her father) out with permission to court her. Emma had protested the whole thing, citing that not only was she a strong, independent, 21st-century woman who didn’t need her parents’ approval, but they were also LITERAL TRUE LOVE.  

But apparently it was a formality and was required, and honestly, her father seemed to appreciate it and finally stopped shooting figurative daggers into Killian’s back all the time. Actually, now that she thought about it, that was probably when they first started to become friends, and now had something of a bromance going on. She knew she should probably be weirded out by it, but then she remembered that her True Love had a good century on her father and figured she should probably just be happy they didn’t hate each other. Although if she had to drag their drunk asses out that pub in town one more time...let’s just say Granny wasn’t too happy with her impromptu guests that night.

Sometime after that, the Dark Fae Queen came back to stake her revenge and make one last-ditch grab at the throne. Apparently, there was another prophecy indicating that Emma would be the one to rid the world of that dark magic once and for all—if she thought she felt like Harry Potter back when Granny told her the truth about her history, that revelation multiplied it tenfold.

The Queen clearly wasn’t about to let that happen, given the lengths she’d gone through to prevent it thus far. But Killian was at her side the whole time, giving her the support she needed to defeat the evil sorceress. And they did it together, and with the power of True Love. (Yes, she was fully aware of how cheesy that sounded, but was pleased to discover she didn’t effing care.)

And then, finally, a year and a few days ago, they went on a date in town at Granny’s and then headed to the meadow for some stargazing. That was still their spot, even if it was technically outside the fae realm—but, both having spent so long in the Muggle world, it was nice to escape the chaos of the palace into somewhere they felt comfortable. 

They laid there, staring up at the cosmos, with Cygnus on full view and somehow looking extra bright. The stars seemed to sparkle more in his eyes, which were even more full of love than usual, and— _ wait, are those tears? When did I stand up? And why is he on one knee? _

To this day, she can barely remember what he said, only that it was the easiest question she’d ever been asked: yes, of course she’d marry him.

And that set off the year of craziness that finally got them to this morning. Part of her couldn’t wait to make it official: that they belonged to each other, forever and ever. But the other part didn’t want to leave bed, too nervous for the actual ceremony and hullaballoo than what it represented. If it was up to her, it would just be their families in the meadow, with the Blue Fairy—the closest thing the fae had to a justice of the peace—officiating.

But what did it mean if she was nervous to simply go up in front of everyone and marry her True Love? They were already tied together, so what was one more thing? And what did that say about her feelings toward Killian?

A quiet knock at the door pulled Emma from her free-ranging thoughts and emotions; a moment later, her mother’s head poked around the opening. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Emma replied, finally throwing back the covers and making to get out of bed. 

“No—stay there,” Snow directed, closing the door behind her and then sliding onto the bed next to Emma. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Historically, that was a loaded question for Emma. Given her early years and teenage rebellion, that usually didn’t have a positive answer. But more and more, she could say she was happy; it was rare nowadays that those negative feelings plagued her. Today, though, was a different story.

“I...I don’t know. Happy? Nervous? Excited? Scared?”

To Emma’s surprise, Snow just chuckled. “I figured as much.”

“You did?”

“I felt the exact same way the day I married your father.”

Emma tilted her head in confusion. “But...you’re True Love.”

“Yes, we are; but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t still nervous. I think Grumpy had to hold me down as we came down the aisle; my wings were beating so fast, I thought I’d fly right out of the great hall!”

They both laughed, but Emma had to ask: “Why were you so scared?”

“Oh, I wasn’t scared; but that ceremony made it official: we were choosing to spend the rest of our lives together, to build a family together, to eventually rule together. It was exciting, but certainly also daunting.”

“How did you get through it?”

“I looked down at the end of the aisle, and there your father stood, looking so handsome. But it wasn’t just that—it was the look of pure joy and love on his face that reminded me that I wasn’t in this alone; I would have a partner through all of it and one who was just as thrilled and scared to do this as I was. And then it all went by in a blur, and, well, here we are.”

_ “Here we are” _ was a gross understatement on her mother’s part, given everything that had happened in the ensuing 30-plus years, but the happiness that had lit up her mother’s eyes when she told her story was the same Emma saw every day from both of her parents and, more importantly, from Killian, and she knew he saw it, too. Knowing her mother had felt this way calmed her, and she had a gut feeling that a similar conversation was going on in Killian’s old room between him, his brother, and her father.

She really wasn’t alone, nor would she be ever again. So with a contented sigh, she told her mother, “Okay. I’m ready.”

Snow just smiled back, happily squeezing her daughter’s hand, before dashing out and returning a moment later with Ruby, Granny, and Elsa in tow.

With a soft smile, Elsa slipped her something: a single, perfect middlemist. There was no note or message along with it, but none was needed—Emma knew all too well what Killian was saying.  _ I love you too _ , she whispered into it, and made sure to slip it in the middle of her bouquet.

After the fact, if you asked her, Emma couldn’t relay the details of doing hair or makeup, aside from a gentle reminder that Ruby not let her look like a streetwalker. What stuck out was the happy, joyful, teary looks on everyone’s faces, Emma’s included, as they helped her get ready for the big day. She vaguely recalled getting dressed and the way everyone completely lost it when she stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her long-sleeved, lacy white gown. Thank goodness for magic fae makeup being water-resistant.

She remembers that there was music in the ceremony, but what tune it was—if it was even familiar—never really registered. All she could recall before taking the aisle was the proud grin her father wore, his eyes also brimming with tears. And just like her mother, she felt as if she might fly away, her wings were beating so rapidly—but so were David’s, so they figured walking was the safer bet.

She wasn’t aware of anything else—not the small crowd, not the decorations, hardly even time itself—once her attention switched from who was walking her down the aisle to who was waiting for her at the end of it. Killian—looking dapper in a simple waistcoat, button up shirt (though he characteristically hadn’t done many of them), and slacks—was standing there, an unstoppable grin on his face. Liam was next to him and their matching wings fluttered in time as she drew nearer.

Once her father tearfully handed her off, she could barely register what the Blue Fairy was saying because she was staring into Killian’s bright blue eyes, reading all of the love and excitement within. She could tell he was just as nervous as she was, which seemed to make them both relax. Somehow, they both managed to say “I do”—after the requisite exchange of “I love you and I like you”—and it took her entire effort to not surge forward and kiss him while the Blue Fairy pronounced them wed.

But then she did, and just like their first kiss, Emma grabbed his lapels and pulled him in. It was like fireworks exploded when their lips met; granted, that happened all the time, but they were married now.  _ Married. Holy crap _ .

(Also, there may have been some literal fireworks—magic and all that. Above their heads and around the ceilingless hall, glittering blue and green butterflies flitted about over the guests’ heads and between the copious middlemist.)

Later, as the reception (catered by Granny, of course) wore into the night, with fae and werewolves and pixies and all other manner of supernatural creature all swaying and dancing under the stars, Emma somehow lost track of Killian. They’d tried to stay close, but with so many well-wishers and friends pulling them in every which direction, it was inevitable. And that was when Emma’s old loner instincts kicked in, and she found herself wandering over to a private balcony off the main hall. It was a spot the two of them had found after her coronation ball, where he taught her how to waltz. (“The most important rule is: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” She rolled her eyes then, but he was the perfect partner...in everything.)

From here, she could see the whole of Misthaven—its lush trees, low-rising mountains, and small, twinkling towns. It was a sight that always astonished and humbled her. And if she looked very closely at the horizon, she could just make out the ocean, with the full moon glinting off the waves. It reminded her of that first time she sought Killian out, when he took her to the cliff overlooking the sea. She smiled to herself, thinking of how far they’d come since then.

“Are you lost, love?”

She turned from her spot at the railing to see her husband—husband!!!! (she could hardly believe it still)—smirking at her from where he was leaning against a pillar, repeating the first words he ever said to her. He pushed off, continuing, “I might be able to help you find your way back.”

Happily, she hummed as he stepped into her space and wrapped his arms around her waist. She followed suit and confidently told him, “I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye,” she replied, attempting (and failing) to mimic his accent. “All thanks to my fairy godpirate.”

Even in the pale moonlight, she could see the rosy hue on his sharp cheekbones, and the way he glanced down bashfully was nothing short of adorable. “I feel I’m the one who should be thanking you, my love; were it not for you—”

She cut him off. “Don’t go getting sappy on me,” she teased, before turning sincere. “Neither of us would be here without the other. I love you.”

“I love you too, Swan.” Gently, he tilted down to meet her lips—their first real kiss as a married couple. Yeah, the kiss during the ceremony was incredible, and the dwarves got a little too happy with clinking their knives on their glasses during dinner, but this was the first kiss that was just for them. 

The music filtered over to their hiding place—a waltz, of course—and right there, wrapped in the arms of her True Love, slowly dancing and kissing in a haze of love and flutter of wings, it was easy for Emma to forget that she had once been a lost girl, burned by love; that he too had been alone for so, so long. All she needed—all either of them needed—was right there, and they had a long, long time to enjoy it.

“So, my beautiful wife,” Killian started, pausing to grin on that last word, “When would you like to start your happily ever after?”

“I was thinking now sounded good.”

“Good.”

(Quietly, they slipped back to their—THEIR—room, and reached some happy endings of a different kind.)

(Then, finally, Emma got her vacation somewhere warm, with white sand and drinks fruity enough to cover the taste of cheap rum. As for hot people—well, they had each other for that, although they both got pretty sunburned.)

(And, some months later, Killian was proven true on the origin of fae babies. As Emma looked down onto the face of their daughter—with dark wavy hair, little pointed ears, and tiny blue-green wings—she knew she had an ending that was even happier than she could ever imagine.) 

  
  
  



End file.
